


Swan Shine

by JD_Riley



Series: Victorian A/B/O [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Attempted Murder, Beta/Omega, Blow Jobs, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Developing Relationship, England (Country), First Time, Historical, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, Original Fiction, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Smut, Victorian, Violence, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-17 06:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 67,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10588758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Riley/pseuds/JD_Riley
Summary: Cyril Muir is in London against his will while he recovers from a vicious attack that nearly took his life back in New York.  An Omega bare-knuckle boxer and the son of a prominent hotelier, he has no patience for the strutting and posturing of the insufferable Alphas of the ton and seeks only to shock them from pursuing him with his prickly demeanor and physical scars.  Left nearly entirely nose-blind from his chosen hobby, he relies on his sight to spot potential Alphas who would try for his affections--a method that serves him well until he stumbles into the handsome and honorable Edwin Penberth whose presence screams "Alpha" and whose eyes promise that ever-elusive happiness Cyril's been fighting for his whole life.





	1. Chapter 1

What truly woke him from the nightmare each time was not the images or the sensations that mirrored his pain but the disinclination for his physical body to _breathe_ while it was playing out in his slumber. His body's memory was powerful and refused to allow itself to slip away from the pervading horror that cursed his dreams—insistent on reliving every traumatic moment over and over until it had deprived him of enough air that he awoke with a hard and noisy gasp that rasped into his half-closed throat, vibrating into his lungs and sating their burning desire for breath. His chest heaved while he pleaded silently for his throat to open fully, dragging in those tortured gasps and choking on the air he could hold while clawing at his throat, his fingers passing over the evidence of the true nightmare.

It had been over two months previous and still it haunted him. Every glace he took in a mirror before he pulled on his cravat, he had to be faced with the dark discoloration that the doctor had said would fade in time. Cyril was not so certain and he remained skeptical every time he cared to inspect the place where the ligature had cut deep into his throat.

He brought his hand up to his neck and laid his palm over his straining esophagus while he stared up at the ceiling, every image of the brutal assault floating into his head while early morning birdsong filtered in from the window. The sun was not quite breaching the horizon but the sky was lightening and Cyril was covered in sweat, a stray tear escaping the corner of one of his eyes—a product of pure memory and a nightmare that would _not stop_ _coming_. His father had brought him to England for the misguided purpose of getting him to forget. He was supposed to be burying his memories in the fine culture of the English, the men and women that were of a similar wealth who seemed likely to become investors for his father's hotel venture he was eager to construct in London—the plans luxurious and sprawling. As there had been three previously successful hotels, two in America and one in France, it was likely that the gentry should have been fair leaping upon the prospect of an investment in a London incarnation.

Of course, as Cyril knew only so well, the peerage had limited interest in the nouveau riche, especially that of the _American_ variety and so despite the prospects of business being high, the prospects for Cyril still seemed fairly dismal though, he admitted to himself, he had not yet been properly introduced to society and was, as yet, an untested American knight of the _ton_. It didn't matter in the slightest, anyway, he thought cynically.

His father's insistence that he mingle with the ton was ill-conceived from the beginning. Their debutantes were pink, pale, and above-all, they were _pure_. Cyril was the very antithesis of such a concept. His status as an Omega had never hindered his recklessness, his honest and unapologetic depravity. This was where it had left him, in the end. Struggling to breathe in the aftermath of a nightmarish existence in the darkness of a London town manor with nobody to blame but himself for every broken part of him. Still. _Still_. He cursed the _Alpha_.

He got up, pulling on his clothes without bothering with more than just trousers, a shirt, and his boots, stomping down the stairs until he reached the drawing room where the valet, Barker, was assisting the housekeeper in stoking the fire. He was usually ignored by most of the staff, citing his prickly demeanor and tendency to snap for their coolness toward him. It was fairly typical and he had no true affinity for any of the servants he'd had, save perhaps the good-natured and patient housekeeper his father had hired on for their home in New York. At times, even she would give him a sniff if he'd recently done or said something particularly petulant. He sank into a chair after getting himself a glass of sherry, downing it with abandon and setting the glass down next to him while he tipped his head back on the cushioned arm rest, bringing his knees up over the other so that he could perhaps finish his sleep in a position less suited to...

_To being strangled._

His eyes opened while his body inadvertently took in a light gasp. He scowled at himself, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering into the freshly stoked flames before he settled again and closed his eyes, sleep coming mercifully quickly and staying only until his father found him a few hours later.

“Cyril!” he barked, his strong voice rousing the Omega abruptly. “We have appointments today. Go upstairs and put some proper clothes on. I will not have you looking like you've just rolled out of your bed in front of possible investors and architects.”

If the Lord could have had any mercy, he would have struck the poor Omega down at that very moment. As he clearly did not, Cyril was forced to drag his feet against each step as he went, finding Barker in his room, the English servant dispassionately laying out an outfit for the day that was pressed and immaculate.

“Shall you be needing any assistance in dressing today, Mr. Muir?”

“No,” he snapped, “and you can quit your blasted preening...” his voice turned into a hot mutter while Barker fair sprinted from the room. “Self-satisfied _lickfinger_.” He tugged on his own clothes, letting his scowl soak into his expression before he came down the stairs again, his sour mood and scent driving the maids to hurry along when they passed him.

His father, a handsome Alpha who had dealt with much too much nonsense in his life, scowled at him, their expressions nearly perfectly matching—it was not a bit of guesswork to tell they were father and son.

“Calm yourself, boy. You might not be able to use your fool nose, but everyone else can.”

He rubbed at the offending attribute and then took a deep breath in through it. It had been a few months prior but his habit of getting into fisticuffs with the other feisty Omegas had finally taken its toll in a more-than-superficial facet. A particularly brutal blow to his nose had both broken it and taken most of his sense of smell, leaving him unable to scent emotions in others, unable to taste about half his food, but _blessedly_ dulling the disgusting presence of Alphas should they bother to come around him. It was easy enough to discern them through their physique, he had no reason to be sorrowful about losing the ability to scent their overbearing and gag-worthy pheromones. Predictably, his father's main concern had next to nothing to do with logic.

_How will you be able to scent when they're aroused by you, you damned idiot?_

The fact remained that Cyril was one-hundred percent unconcerned by whether or not an Alpha was _aroused_ by him. For all he cared, every Alpha in existence could fall straight to the Devil and he could live the rest of his days in utter contentment. Of course, his disability couldn't cut out _every_ scent. He could still pick out a few of them if they were strong enough. Such things as Alphas in rut or Omegas in heat were still enough to prick through his dulled sense, their colorful aromas cutting through the white noise of nothingness that usually haunted him.

For this reason, it was a complete surprise when he found that out of all the potential investors his father met with, there was only one he could actually _smell_. He made sure to flatten his mouth when the young, virile Alpha looked at him as his father rambled on about the architectural designs as they sat in drawing rooms and strolled through to private libraries in luscious London houses, schmoozing the men who'd come for the meeting with buzzing money-making terms. There was truly only one reason why his father was adamant that he come and join them for business conversations. Enough Alphas in one place were enough to make any Omega sick—but Cyril was immune. His scent could cut through and calm any number of Alphas, giving the meetings a more tacit feel. It was all business. It was all networking. It was also to procure invitations to balls for the scrappy little Omega.

The young Alpha whose scent was too strong managed to sidle up next to him during a pause in the proceedings, offering him a sherry which he took willingly enough though not without a hint of a scowl.

“Does your father often speak in extended hyperbole?” His voice was low and smooth and incredibly rich which made Cyril only even more irritated. It wasn't enough that these English prats were born into money and raised in silks and furs, they had to have that _sound_ to their voices that made them seem so damned high and mighty. “I say, what's got you overwrought?” His smirk was at least amused as he raked his eyes up and down over the Omega.

He noted that one of the older Alphas was discreetly watching their encounter from where he sat in one of the over-stuffed chairs. Although while bearing no great resemblance, Cyril might have guessed that the two of them could have been related, perhaps father and son. The prospect made him prickle even more.

He snipped. “I am not here for your entertainment. If you wish to ask my father a question, he is right over there.”

The young Alpha chuckled. “I truly wished to break into an acquaintance with _you_. I'm Rainton. You can call me Simon, if you'd like. I would very much like to hear my name in that interesting accent you have.”

Cyril couldn't help but to make fun of his manner of speech. “I would _very much_ like to be left in peace, if you wouldn't mind.”

Rainton didn't move but he put his hands in his pockets. “You are a bit of a strange Omega and I don't mind noting it. How do you plan on aiding your father in procuring investments if you do not strut and pose like the little peacock you are?”

“Do I look much like a peacock?” Cyril stiffened and raised his shoulders, glaring at Rainton with a restrained indignant fury.

The Alpha rolled his eyes. “You could wear something that was not _black_. Although, there is not much to be done about...” He trailed off but his fingers raised to his upper lip, showing on himself where he had noted Cyril's thin white scar—a good hit to his mouth had procured him that one and another fight in which his opponent had cheated with a piece of broken glass had given him a fairly decent mark that cut through one of his brows. There were worse-off Omegas, for certain, but it did not make them any less noticeable when he was up against the pretty blushing debutantes in London. “I have to find myself wondering how such a small thing as yourself ended up with such blatant wounds.”

He finally cracked a grin and passed the Alpha a devious glance. “And I have to find myself wondering how all you supposedly depraved and immoral gentlemen that are chatted about constantly overseas have never before placed a bet around a ring of boxers.”

Rainton drew back as if struck. “You are an _Omega_. Omegas do not _box_.”

“Perhaps not in your rings. We can be quite accomplished as fighters in America. Some of us even make our livings in such a way.”

“And you?” Rainton asked, his voice still betraying his disbelief.

Cyril shrugged. “I throw a good left hook. It would be a shame not to use it.”

“I shall not rescind my previous statement. You are quite the strange Omega.” He softly laughed. “I daresay I've never heard of an Omega boxer. Or any Omega who would have been willing to be hit in the face for that matter. Although, I suppose it could be prevalent in the _lower_ classes. Would you agree?”

Cyril was not so dense as to fail to note when an Alpha was trying to play games with him. “I suppose that is a matter of perspective. I have held more men in esteem who were able to take a full swing than those who could not. Perhaps you are unsure of which of the two _you_ are, Alpha?”

“An Alpha's swing is a might bit harder than an Omega's.”

“You have obviously never been hit by one. If you would care for me to demonstrate, you shall know where to find me.” He didn't let Rainton come up with a retort and he turned on his heel and strolled across the room to the liquor cabinet, setting down his untouched sherry and replacing it with a full glass of brandy instead, flashing the Alpha a cheeky smirk as he did so.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scrappy Omega Boxer Bae.
> 
> A lil' bit different this time around. Tags do not include "knotting" due to Edwin being a beta. Sorry for those of you looking for an Alpha/Omega pairing. Gotta mix it up sometimes. :D


	2. Chapter 2

It was a chilly spring night but a mild one, suggesting that perhaps warmer days were just around the corner. He had lingered on the terrace just outside the french doors of Marksdown's London house for as long as he possibly could just to get that cool air on his face. There was nothing Edwin Penberth hated more than being bored to tears by a group of Omegas coming together to read lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream after supper in a drawing room. It happened far too often for it to be any more entertaining than the first two times he'd experienced it and it was happening again. There was no one who should have come to bother him—most of the Omegas present were either reading or making eyes at their prospective suitors.

_Or both._

He put his hands in his pockets and stared up at the moon, a sliver of silver against the deep blue of the night. The few clouds that were above seemed to miss the small crescent as they drifted along and Edwin took care to keep his eyes on that fixed point. It was easy to lose oneself when one was constantly sipping brandy and wandering between London and Belcourt, mingling with debutantes who were either too interested in him or not interested at all. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and kept the moon in his gaze. It was nice to hold onto something so ever-changing and yet so dependable. It was the only thing that was always present, wherever he may have roamed.

His nose picked up the sharp tang of Lord Halwill that was only tempered slightly by his Viscountess's scent that clung to his skin and mingled with his Alpha spice pleasantly. Edwin turned to face his visitor, keeping his hands in his pockets while he gave his friend a nod. At first, the Viscount said nothing, merely coming to stand close with his brandy in his fingers, turning his icy blue eyes upward to follow Edwin's gaze toward that sliver of moonlight.

“Rainton is hosting cards in about two hours,” Halwill muttered. “Shall we see you there?”

Edwin gave a slow nod. He did not play cards. He never gambled, actually. After having witnessed many a peer lose a fortune to the gaming tables, he had determined that he was only to place a bet when he was sure of the outcome. As most times, that was impossible, Edwin simply never placed any bet. Ever. His friends were overly familiar with his peculiarities and were never offended when he came to their card games only to sit to the side and watch them play. It was perhaps for the better in any case. As large and as similar as Edwin appeared when compared to the Alpha Lords, he lacked their superior strength and their _Alpha_ voice that would have made him a contender in a physical match that could arise in the event of a disagreement. Although he may have been able to hold his own in a fight, he was unwilling even to take the bet on himself in that regard and thus avoided brawls.

As a Beta, he was quite aware of many of his limitations but considered them wholly insignificant compared to all that he had to offer as the future Baron of Belcourt. He had already proven to his father that he could manage the estate and make it profitable. Along with that, he had already made all necessary improvements to the manor house, assisted in the implementation of several newer inventions that would improve the work and livelihood of the tenants, and made a few choice investments that were already providing a substantial return. He had already done more than his father had expected of him, crossing over those small barriers that often plagued Betas with ease—their temperaments considered too mild to take risks, a trait that had seemed exemplified by Edwin's unwillingness to gamble.

He would make a fine Baron and, he hoped, at least a decent husband. The season this year had not been going so well in that regard. There were not many new Beta girls, the crop of debutantes flooded with preening tiny pastel-coated Omegas who fanned themselves for the Alphas eagerly and, when catching no Alpha scent on him, glazed their eyes when he spoke. They had been told many a time that their bodies were made for an Alpha and, Edwin conceded, it was true. He was not, as yet, titled and the Omegas were searching for Lords. Confident they could catch one, they stopped listening as soon as one was introduced with a “mister” before their name and if one was a Beta—hah. He sniffed. It was no matter. There was always next year. Or the year after that. Or the year he arrived in a ballroom with “Lord” before his name. Simple. If he found himself completely at a loss, he supposed he could throw himself at the mercy of Lady Netherfield and ask for one of her sisters if they should have a want of him. All the Idlewind sisters he had seen had been just as beautiful as their older Alpha sister and their height would make no difference to him. For their part in this season, they had been passive, attending very few parties as they seemed only interested in dipping their toes in the waters of the ton.

Edwin frowned at his thoughts. “How is your brother, Halwill?”

The Viscount grunted and took a sip of his liquor. After a few moments, he mumbled out a legitimate response when he realized Edwin wasn't going to say anything else. “Netherfield is kind to him. Don't expect him in London. I am certain he still wishes he were invisible. Especially after that bounder got tangled in his reins. The society papers would never let it die if they saw Val prancing about after his old lover's tragic demise.” The Viscount rolled his eyes dramatically and scoffed.

Edwin nodded again, his eyes still trained upward, this time on the dark piece of the moon.

“And your cousin?”

Ah. Edwin's heart swelled. His favorite little cousin, Hollow. “He is quite well. His pup is growing fast. Have you spoken to your brother? The little one was born at Netherfield, after all. Much better to have had the Earl with him rather than I.” He broke his gaze with the moon and beamed at Halwill's stoic expression. “I should have been quite useless, I fear. And to be stuck with a nervous Asterly?”

Halwill's eyelids fluttered as his eyes again rolled hard backwards. His distaste for Hollow's mate was almost tangible. “Better Netherfield than either of us. I'll drink to that. She is much stronger an Alpha than I, I assure you.”

Edwin laughed in surprise. Halwill hadn't seemed the type to say something so gravely honest and complimentary about a woman Alpha. He said nothing more and eventually the Viscount made his way back into the drawing room to subject himself to more of the readings that the debutantes were keen to present, leaving Edwin alone again in the cool spring breeze.

It should have been nice to have been able to marry his distant cousin but as fate should have it, he'd found that the little Omega had been quite smitten by the huge Alpha who'd first waltzed with him. Even as Hollow had admitted that the whole of his courtship had initially been a ruse to ward off other suitors, he'd been very adamant that he was quite in love with the Duke not long after. Edwin's untoward meddling had earned him a blackened eye socket and a damned-near broken nose courtesy of the tiny angered Omega who held a surprising amount of wallop in his fists.

With a sigh and a single relenting glance back toward the moon, Edwin turned and went back to the drawing room, standing about and staring as if in a trance toward the fire until he was tugged by Marksdown who was making a clandestine escape from his own dinner party to join for their game of cards. They all left in succession and arrived more or less simultaneously at Rainton's town house, the lot of them filing into an out-of-the-way parlor that held a billiard table along with a large circular table made specifically for cards.

As their game began, Edwin fiddled with a cue, racking up a few of the billiard balls to practice his shooting. Bets were placed, cigars were lit, and brandy was poured. The din in the room settled while the scents of multiple Alphas started to rise in intensity. Edwin shuffled to the window and cracked it to let in a bit of fresh air, an action he did many times at such functions. As he turned around and picked up his cue again, Rainton's voice rose above the others with a humored chuckle.

“You lads will never believe what I saw today.”

“Try us,” Griggsby growled past a cigar in his teeth while he put down a few chips.

Rainton was grinning like a pup. “Hillsby and I went to see a man about investing in his hotel; a fourth as I am led to believe. A veritable _empire_ of hotels.”

“And?” Halwill grunted.

“See here,” he chuckled. “He has a son. Omega.”

There was a long bit of silence and Edwin leaned back against the billiard table, watching the expressions of the unmated Alphas in the room. Depending on the families of any Lord or to-be Lord, they could very well be able to snatch up any male Omega they wished should they come from a family of comparable wealth, even if they were of questionable stock.

Rainton was still laughing. “The hotelier is from America. New York, I understand. And his Omega son is a _boxer._ ”

Halwill put down his hand and won the round, paying no mind to the information Rainton was snickering over.

As the cards were dealt again, Marksdown was scowling at his cards but his mind was clearly on Rainton. “A boxer, you say? As in fisticuffs? That sounds a bit like a tale, doesn't it?”

“I assure you,” Rainton shook his head. “He insisted that it is not unnatural in the slightest and by the look of his face, I consider every word fact. He even suggested that if I were to be at all curious, he should be happy to _hit_ me.”

“Perhaps,” Hayworth stated, leaning backwards in his seat, “You should have taken him up on the offer. Then you and Penberth could have compared notes on how badly an Omega can damage you.”

Halwill raised one dark slashing brow. “Underestimate him at your own peril, Rainton. I trust he was a fine specimen?”

Rainton scoffed. “For boxing or for _breeding_?” After a round of short chuckles that arose from the group, he shrugged. “He has a few flaws but they would not prevent him from wrapping his pretty lips around a cock, to be sure.”

Edwin spoke, his voice softer and less intrusive than an Alpha's. “And as a boxer?”

“Who cares?” Rainton shrugged, laughing suddenly and bringing most of the table into a set of rich chuckles.

He turned back around, shooting carefully and landing his quarry in a corner pocket. _Hotels_. He'd never held any investments with hotels but with the rising amount of travel into London among the middle classes or those who had come into relative amounts of wealth, a well-run hotel was one of the more stable of investment pursuits. Perhaps it would be worth it to talk to Rainton's cousin, Hillsby.

“Hayworth,” Rainton barked, “Have your wife send the man a ball invitation. Muir is his name. Make sure to include his son. Then he can properly be introduced to the ton. We can all dance with him and take our lives in our hands.”

Halwill grinned deviously. “One hundred pounds to the man who lets the little one hit him full in the face.”

There was a raucous bit of laughter from the table and Edwin couldn't help but let out a small snicker where he stood near the window. Surely it would be at least entertaining if nothing else to see a group of Alphas goading on a particular Omega—one who was clearly much less gentle and light than those who normally graced the dance floors of London. There was no doubt that a hotelier from New York would spring at the chance to attend a soiree that would likely be packed with possible investors—but would his son?

Edwin chewed the inside of his cheek again and sank another ball in a side pocket. At least the season would be interesting. That was enough at least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just guys being dudes.
> 
> 100 pounds in the Victorian age is roughly 4,000 pounds today. Feel free to comment. I'd love to hear your opinions. If you haven't read the first two, I tried to play catch-up with you in this one with Halwill and Edwin. If you have, hopefully I didn't bore you to death. Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

The sky was a dreary overcast that reminded him fondly of the time he'd spent in Buffalo when his father was building a hotel there. The balcony he was standing on was at the rear of the house and, oddly, he thought it should have been rather more accessible for Romeo if there weren't an oppressive wrought iron gate that surrounded the property. Then again, he thought, any pursuing Romeo should probably be held up for at least a few minutes with a gate for an obstacle in the name of love.

From what he'd already seen, London was alive with the season so when he went for a walk in the park, he wasn't surprised to find groups of feathered pastel Omegas wandering together or tucked up in curricles with their shawls wrapped around their bird-boned shoulders to keep from the nip in the air. They often flocked to each other and such a thing was only natural, he knew. They were calmed by each other, their gentle sweet scents often creating a mixture that was like honey to flies for Alphas. Being flanked by Omegas all the time was a blessing and a curse, Cyril had found. Alphas were more likely to appear with the greater number of Omegas present but the camaraderie among the fairer dynamic was something that was not easily replicated with any other. As much as the Beta girls anywhere cast their jealous glances over the gatherings or chattered about how fickle the Omega debutantes must be with each other, Cyril was doubtful. From his experience, those were the bonds that were the strongest.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered about, nodding to many of the curious ladies who peered at him with a tight half-smile. The air was good for him. It was the gentle push his waking mind needed to rid him of any residual mess leftover from his nightmares. Images of his own hands grasping at dirty, mangled sheets. The hard struggle against an unmatched strength. Hot breathy, _dangerous_ words growled against his ear. Wet sounds coupled with ripping pain and... His hand came to his throat and he wished he could tear off his cravat, the soft linen feeling much too tight this morning.

When he returned, he slipped into the front hall hoping to remain unnoticed. It wasn't to be. Barker stopped short and informed him in a clipped tone that his father was in the study and wished to see him. He didn't bother to reply, taking off his coat and shuffling toward the study with his hands still deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched to prevent any other servants from speaking to him. His father was busily dipping his pen and scribbling through letters, most likely missives to his architects and his hotel managers, a one-man empire seated behind a desk.

“Ah, Cyril. This came for you.”

He reached out and took the small envelope, shiffing the paper from it. “This is to you, father.” It was a thick piece of parchment that was crisp and weighty, an expensive invitation to what most likely promised to be an overly-opulent ball.

“It includes you and,” he stopped writing to stare up at Cyril with a serious expression. “We are both going. I will not accept any argument against it. You will be polite, dignified, and you will make certain that you are not to alienate prospective investors. The man who marries you could inherit my entire fortune. I expect you to choose wisely.”

Cyril tossed the heavy invitation down on the desk. “And if I never marry?”

“Then I will do my absolute best to insist that you carry the inheritance yourself. The courts are not in your favor, Cyril. This is your best chance to ensure that you are provided for.” He gave a sigh and leaned back in his seat, tossing the pen down on the blotter. “Lord knows when you were growing up, I often hoped and prayed that your stature was merely a fluke. That you would at least take on the role of a Beta as to have a better chance of taking over my control once I died. We cannot all be so lucky. If your mother had given me just...one more son...”

He'd heard it all before and it put that relentless and familiar anger in his belly that he knew his father could scent. It was rolling off of him with every beat of his heart. He muttered while his father's words trailed off. “Am I not strong enough?”

“That is not what I meant, Cyril. As your father, I am proud of you. As an Alpha, I have been, in the past, appalled by you.”

He leaned forward with his gloved hands on the far edge of his father's desk. “ _Am I not strong enough?_ ”

The older Alpha sighed through his nose. “You are strong enough. But you know that just because I believe it is true does not make it so that the courts will rule in your favor should it come to that. They have not seen you as I have seen you.”

“I do not want a husband.”

His father leveled a knowing stare in his direction. “You do not want a husband, or you do not want an _Alpha_?”

Cyril snorted and straightened. “What is the difference?” He turned to the window and wandered toward it, once again putting his hands in his pockets and attempting to calm himself with a gaze out toward the overcast skies. He wished he hadn't come home from the park just yet. He wished he hadn't been cornered about attending a damned _party_. “All of these cock-sure Alpha Lords are so convinced they're some pumpkins. They're all the same. Dangling an empire of hotels in front of their greedy, scummy noses will make anyone marry me. Is that what you're banking upon, father? That their love of money will smooth away their misgivings about my purity?”

“I am looking for a _responsible_ heir. I do not want you to be snatched up by some wastrel and I couldn't give a damn about what they think of your purity. If they are of a sound mind, they haven't gambled away their family's fortune, and they have a good head on their shoulders, then I trust that you will keep them in line while you continue my legacy. Their name is a formality, Cyril. I want _you_ in my place.” His father stood and joined him at the window, taking his upper arm in one strong hand to roughly pull Cyril to face him. “Because I know you are strong enough. Smart enough. _Tenacious_ enough.”

“Manipulative enough?” Cyril mumbled. “How am I to continue your legacy while I am birthing pups for some title-brained Alpha?”

His father let go of his arm and ran the side of his finger over Cyril's upper lip over his scar. “You have endured much in your life. I do not doubt your ability to hold your Alpha in one hand and your empire in the other.”

He knew nearly everything there was to know about his father's business if only from his observations. His father had been quite careful to choose hotel managers who were receptive to an Omega's eventual control and had even chosen several Beta architects who seemed happy enough and even excited about the prospect of working with Cyril. The interiors of nearly all of his standing structures had been designed by Omegas even down to the luxuriant stained glass creations inside. The largest struggle had been with contractors and actual builders, the head-strong Alphas often more interested in trying to cop a feel rather than consider him a potential hotelier. Investors were a whole different league altogether and he and his father had fallen into a silent agreement that Cyril was not to discuss his future control. Investors were often spooked by the prospect and Cyril couldn't blame them for their concerns. He, himself wasn't certain he would have put his money in the hands of one of the chits in the park.

It wasn't the _hotels_ that were beyond his ken. It was how in the world he was ever going to hold at bay an Alpha who was adamant for an heir. Who was most likely going to hold his Omega at arm's length, legally if need required, to get his dirty Alpha paws all over what should have been rightfully Cyril's alone. They were sneaky. They could lie. They could promise everything and more if only to gain control after marriage and take everything they wanted—all promises cast aside while Cyril was trapped in a country estate with a belly full of pup. It was only natural for him to be wary of putting a stranger's name on _his_ future.

He stared into his father's eyes and conceded. “I will go to this ball. I will look at the Alphas. But I promise nothing. They will likely be less than interested in me anyway. I am not as pretty as their debutantes. Their males will be wearing frills or lace. They will...strut. They will have no scars.”

“All I ask is that you go. This is your presentation to society. Remember.” His voice claimed again its usual gruffness. “Polite. Sensible. Dignified.” He cast a warning glance down at his only son. “ _Refined_.”

Cyril couldn't help but to roll his eyes at the word and snort in response. If there was any word that was the perfect antonym for the scrappy Omega, it was _refined._ He left his father to his work and dragged his heels against the floor until he was wandering through the kitchen, letting the servants openly marvel at him while he watched the cook flit about with grace.

She was a red-headed Alpha with serious eyes and she had no patience for him. Brandishing one flour-covered finger at him, she admonished him like an irritated mother. “If you're going to stand about in your waistcoat and shirt like that in here, I'll put an apron on you and put you to work.”

It finally put a grin over his face, cracking his sour expression. Without responding, he moved to their work closet and slipped one of the white garments on, rolling up his sleeves and removing his gloves. He sidled next to her until she inched out of his way so he could work her dough, folding and pressing while she watched him with her arms folded in front of her. The rest of the kitchen seemed to slow down significantly as the quiet servants chanced peeks and glances in his direction. Even Barker paused on his way through to watch Cyril while he arranged the dough and spun it, bowling his hands to shape it.

“Well,” the cook smirked. “He knows how to work bread. Perhaps you Americans aren't as entirely useless as you seem. What are you here for, anyway? If you're looking for a treat, you can find a scone in the pantry.”

He gave her a light bow and said nothing, taking off the apron and tossing it to a hamper that sat to the side of the room before he moved to the pantry and snagged a scone from one of the bundles covered with oil cloth. His silence was perhaps much better when it came to the opinions of the staff who were more than likely expecting a prickled response as was usual. They stared after him when he left, munching the scone and pondering how in the world he was ever going to make it through an entire ball without having punched anyone in the face.

* * *

He supposed, as their carriage was pulling up the drive to the door, that it was too late to somehow suggest to his father that it would have been more proper for him to have a decent chaperone who wasn't going to be schmoozing with potential investors the entire night. Though, at the thought of it, he almost scoffed to himself while they descended from the coach and wandered with the other guests through the torches to the large front doors of the Hayworth London house. There was no point in a chaperone if there was nothing left of him that needed to be protected against a compromising situation. It was true that he was not bondmarked—there was that, at least, but he had heard of London parties and the debauchery that was committed therein. He would be careful not to be cornered. And if he was—there would hell to pay. He felt his hands ball into fists before he was divested of his jacket and his hat and corralled toward Lord and Lady Hayworth who were receiving at the doorway to their ballroom.

Lady Hayworth spied him easily with hazel eyes that flashed with something Cyril recognized readily.

_Cunning._

“Why, you _must_ be Mr. Muir,” she breathed in a light and airy tone while Lord Hayworth was greeting his father in that gruff posturing Alpha manner that Cyril did not envy in the slightest. “I was much hoping that you would come tonight, I fair say I was just lamenting that you may still be tired from your journey from New York.” She very gracefully shook her head, the jewels carefully placed in her coiffure glittering in the soft warm lights that glowed from the candles and lamps scattered about. From the cut of her silvery gray gown, it was only too obvious that she was quite proud of the clean and prominently displayed bondmark on her neck. Perhaps a hard-won venture on her part.

He bowed to her deeply and then straightened before her, his shoulders squared and his posture powerful. “It is an honor to meet you, my Lady. I am certain to relieve you of your anxiety. The journey was not tiring in the least and I will be sure to attend any occasion for which you find you have need of me.”

“Oh,” she crooned. “I am simply in love with your spoken word, Mr. Muir. Even so polite, you sound so ruthless and cutting. I am practically in awe of it. We shall speak later, Mr. Muir. I must hear more about your travels.”

He was released into the fray and only strolled carelessly behind his father who was keen to find other gentlemen he'd already made an acquaintance with. The ballroom's french doors to the terrace were all spread wide open to air out the inevitable overwhelming scents of the Alphas in attendance as there were currently not enough Omegas milling about to cut through it. Cyril could not have cared. The scent of Alpha was strong enough that he could smell it but he was unable to be overpowered by it. Unfortunately, he recognized a small bit of it when his father was accepted into a circle of black-clad gentlemen, his eyes drawing up to a very amused-looking Baron of Rainton.

_Lovely._

“It's lovely to see you again, Mr. Muir,” the Baron crooned with half-lidded eyes. “Perhaps later you shall honor me with a dance?”

Cyril's eyes narrowed up at the handsome Alpha and he felt his teeth grit hard. There was a bizarre silence among the group while most of them turned toward him with curious glances, every one of them able to scent his irritation easily. He looked at his father who jerked his head toward Rainton, in his eyes a warning.

He ground out his response. “I would...like that. My Lord.” He would rather die. There was really only one way to get out of it and that was to disappear for the duration of the night which was impractical and it wouldn't happen. He cursed under his breath before Rainton introduced him to most of the group, a bunch of mostly married older Alphas who were _charmed_. He could have gagged his way out of the room just from the sound of their voices as they spoke to him. _Alphas._ It was enough to make anyone sick.

Eventually, he managed to slip away from the group nearly unnoticed as the conversations slowly began settling on business matters, his first concern a matter of finding a significant number of Omegas clustered together that could hide him behind their skirts and their fans and their _scents_. There were a decent number of them gathering in front of the open french doors to one side, their pastel colors bleeding together into a delightfully bright mix of color that resembled someone's spilled Easter basket. He came before them, capturing their attention with a deep and revering bow before he straightened and puffed up much like he had for Lady Hayworth.

“Ladies,” he greeted. “Cyril Muir. Of New York.” His boldness in introducing himself rather than being formally introduced was rewarded immediately as one of the taller girls broke forward.

“Miss Amelia Watson.” She put out her fingers and he kissed them with a grateful grin.

Another stepped forward with her hand out. “Miss Josephine Brewer.”

More of them gathered about him, their expressions conveying that such a formality was much required among their ranks. Every one of them was greeted in the same manner and Cyril was ever grateful for their receptiveness as he had noted that there had begun already to be a murmur of curiosity through the dance floor and the crowds of eager Alphas. They knew he was present and if they could all get a look at him, they would be sure to catch it as soon as possible.

“No other gentlemen among you, ladies?” he asked, his brow quirking as he filtered through them with his eyes.

Miss Eliza Beechworth spoke, her delicate gloved hand on her bosom. “Gracious no, Mr. Muir. Male Omegas must be the scarcest commodity in the ballrooms of London. I should imagine that if 'tis not the case in America, us ladies would never have a chance at a suitor there.”

“We are most certainly no rarity,” he chuckled, secretly disconcerted by her words. If there were no other men, if he were the only one—he should never have a chance. He was going to be entirely mobbed if he did not do something. “Unfortunately for the men of London, I am most certainly not looking for an Alpha this season or...or ever. They may waste their time as they please. All of you ladies are much prettier than I am and they are blind not to see it.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Watson chided, “Perhaps we are prettier but it is only because the word does not do you justice. You are a very _handsome_ Omega, Mr. Muir. I say, you are much more...” She shook her head, her mouth screwing up while she searched for the word.

Miss Brewer blurted it out, pulling out her fan as she said it. “Masculine.” She flapped her fan at her neck, casting him a coy smile.

Miss Watson nodded. “Ah. That is it. You are much more like a _man_ than others. Perhaps the Alphas will simply be...surprised by you. You and your...American charm.” She winked at him and he vaguely recognized that he had inadvertently allowed these Omegas to somehow begin _flirting_ with him. The thought was enough to tickle him greatly and he let his grin show it.

“You are all much too kind though I am very flattered by such an assertion. Would any of you care for a dance? I would love to twirl a few of you over the floor, if you're of a mind to swish about and daze those cocky Alphas.”

Miss Watson was the first to put out her hand toward him and she giggled excitedly, flashing a lovely set of white teeth while she followed him onto the floor, the two of them narrowly escaping a few Alphas who had been on their way over to interrupt their palaver. She moved with him fluidly, her skirts a dazzling light blue trimmed in white. He could just barely enjoy the tops of her pale breasts where they perked above her neckline, held up by a tightened corset and he stayed grinning at himself while she spoke to him through their dance.

“You are a wonderful dancer, Mr. Muir. It must not be true what they say about Americans. That you are all terrible savages without any manners.”

He twirled her easily and brought the backs of her fingers to his mouth before settling her back into her place with finesse. “Just with one look at my face you should know that everything they say about us Americans is complete truth. Daring, reckless, and barbaric, the lot of us.”

“You do a fine job of concealing it...despite.” She batted her eyelashes at him as she glanced down and then up at him with that alluring coyness. “I should not cast you aside for such imperfections.”

“Do my ears deceive me, Miss Watson? Have you been flirting with me? I say, I should have fulfilled my father's wishes and presented as an Alpha after all. It was remiss of me, wasn't it? To be such that I am.” He chuckled as he maneuvered them between sets of other dancers. “I would marry the lot of you if I could but I'm afraid such a crime is not one that can be cast aside.”

Miss Watson gave a ladylike sniff. “It is only my family that has a care. Not I.” She giggled again. “I believe I would find it such a relief to have married another Omega.” She added on as a conspiratorial whisper, “Tradition be damned.”

He gave a mirthful laugh as the set ended and she linked her arm with his. “You daring girl.” He winked at her. “Perhaps one day you should set your feet in New York and find yourself at home with the rest of us cads and barbarians.”

With much care, Cyril managed to dance with three more of them until Rainton was ready for him to come back with Miss Brewer on his arm. The Baron was tall and stately, his posture relaxed as he casually chatted with a few of the clustered Omegas while waiting for his ideal chance to strike. He found it before Cyril had even had the chance to deposit Miss Brewer back into the group.

“Mr. Muir. I took the care to come find you for our promised dance.” He let out a chuckle with his glance at the ladies who were twittering around Cyril, drawing him in with them with soft tugs and touches.

It was an instinctual and habitual defense mechanism that was fairly common in packs of tiny Omegas to press into a tight formation. If he rejected the Baron outright, he had no doubt that the whole lot of them would easily tuck him into the center in an effort to protect him. They were holding their fans, flipping them open as if ready to completely mask his scent with theirs by fluttering together. He smirked, smug in the knowledge that he was in utter control now.

“My Lord,” he smiled. “May I introduce some of my new friends? Have you met all the debutantes?”

He saw Rainton's lower eyelid twitch. “Perhaps we may all be introduced after the set. Mr. Muir?” The Baron put out his hand, palm up and the Omegas began to knit themselves tighter at Cyril's shoulders, some of them fluttering their fans to their throats. Their scent was starting to gather enough to just barely make it into Cyril's senses, their collective a delightful and subtle honey blend that made the little hairs at the back of his neck prickle with comfort and pleasure.

He moved to take Rainton's hand and was distracted by the gentle touch of Miss Watson's gloved fingers on his arm. She had caught the Baron's eyes and the set of her jaw was a clear warning. Her voice was warm even as her eyes were cold. She put out her hand, not touching his.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lord. I am Miss Amelia Watson.”

At this cue, the girls pulled Cyril backwards, fluttering their fans madly against themselves while he bit his bottom lip and flashed the Baron the most arrogant grin he could summon from the depths of hell. Before he lost sight of him, Rainton was glowering, forced by courtesy to graciously accept every Omega's hand that was offered as he was introduced to the lines of them that approached him. Seeing his opening, Cyril turned, laughing and thanking the girls before he made a break for one of the wide french doors and the cooler air that would take care of the light perspiration that he'd worked up from dancing.

The expanse of the terrace held with it the promise of freedom and he was still chuckling over his good fortune when the night air brought with it the trace of _Alpha_ he'd just escaped from in the ballroom. He looked upward and all his snickering came to a sudden halt as he realized that he was quite suddenly very alone and facing the likes of no less than _five_ tall and imposing Alphas who had all immediately turned to notice him.

“Well,” came an admiring murmur from a terrifically large raven-haired gentleman with impossibly clear blue eyes. “I daresay Rainton didn't quite do you justice when he described you, little Omega.”

There was a rippling mutter of agreement from the group.

“He only said you had pretty _lips_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny glance of Omega ingenuity and the "why" behind their "cluster" formation. A united front is the only way these girls survive a season. The technique is not without its flaws.


	4. Chapter 4

Edwin had to admit that the little Omega most definitely had shocked him when he'd suddenly come out looking so...so _good._ When Rainton had claimed him to be a boxer, Edwin had been sure that the man would have had been so much more _disfigured._ As it turned out, the small, very male, Omega was in actuality quite handsome with mostly delicate features save for his slightly more defined jaw and the hard set of his features as a deep scowl settled over them. His flaws that the Baron had referenced were apparent in the warm light that was cast over him in high contrast from the french doors, one of his brows prominently cut at the arch and his once-proud nose a tad bit crooked from the middle. All of it gave him something of a wicked charm that Edwin found was inexplicably alluring.

Unlike most male Omegas, the boxer held himself straight and squared and with his chin held just so; he was much _much_ more _male_ than he should have seemed. As his tempestuous hazel eyes flashed in the light from the ballroom, it was apparent that there was true spirit in him, a fight itching to be had. Edwin felt the unfamiliar stir of anticipation in himself as he waited for the little one's response to Halwill's teasing. It only took the Omega a few seconds to absorb his situation, to take stock of each and every Lord that was looking at him where they stood on the terrace. Edwin, for his part, was mostly in the back of the group, leaning languidly against the stone railing near the stairs. He had thought it would have been advantageous to be at least somewhat invisible for such an adventure but with the sight of the wild little boxer, he wished he'd elbowed his way to the front.

His voice was a fair bit deeper than Edwin had expected and the sound of it thrilled him to his toes along with that flat and cutting American whip.

“This was a plot, then. I see. Did Rainton know you were all relying on his rejection?”

“If he didn't, he should have,” Halwill muttered. He flashed a grin and then opened his arms and gave a light bow. “Viscount Halwill. These are my friends. Hayworth, Marksdown, Griggsby, and Mr. Penberth.”

The Omega's eyes caught Edwin for only just a moment as he took in the “mister” in front of his name. As the only one without a title, he was often the only one cut out of the running for matrimony—although it didn't look like it was going to much matter for the boxer. From what Edwin could deduce just by looking, he was just as hard-edged against the process as Hollow had been and ten times as ill-tempered about it.

“Cyril Muir. Of New York,” he mumbled.

“A dance then, Mr. Muir?” Halwill asked. It was not a question although it was posed as one and the Omega acquiesced begrudgingly, keeping his proud shoulders straight and a resentful expression in his eyes.

Edwin watched Halwill dance with him with the others and when they were finished, Cyril was not allowed to escape to the nervous group of Omegas, passed then to Marksdown, then to Griggsby, then to Rainton, and finally he was brought before Edwin—last as a casual reminder of his Beta status even among his friends. By the time the poor boy was presented to him, he was positively glowing with sweat but exhibited no other symptoms of exhaustion. He had not cracked a smile in any dance and gave Edwin the same unrelenting scowl as the Beta held out his hand.

“Spare me the dance,” Edwin stated, flashing a mischievous grin to his comrades. “I should much rather accompany you to the punch bowl and perhaps take a turn about the gardens. With your chaperone, of course.”

“No chaperone,” Muir growled.

Edwin's grin disappeared and it took him a second to process that Muir was not denying his request for a chaperone, he was merely stating that _he had none._

“No one to look after you?” He hadn't missed that his hand was still extended and Muir had not yet taken it. He cursed his Beta scent.

“I do not need _looking after_.” Muir's _pretty_ lip curled, accentuating a thin white scar that Edwin was shocked to note seemed to trigger something in his mind.

_I want that in my mouth._

He managed to keep a straight face even as he knew his mild scent was filling with the slight hint of arousal at the thought of kissing this small masculine Omega and pulling that beautiful scar between his lips, passing his tongue over it while he rained passion on such a pugnacious partner.

“Well then,” Edwin said, clearing his throat. “I suppose I shall be forced to relent to another dance with you, although I do not wish to exert you overly.”

Muir rolled his eyes, his sweet natural Omega scent almost overpowered by a copious amount of prolonged annoyance. He didn't bother to answer and merely slapped his hand into Edwin's waiting one, allowing the Beta to lead him onto the floor for what promised to be an interesting waltz. For the Omega, it seemed as if silence was his primary method of defense and so Edwin was careful to speak softly.

“Rainton mentioned that you are a boxer. That must be quite exciting.”

Muir said nothing.

“I should introduce you to my cousin. He's got quite a wallop in his fists and,” Edwin laughed quietly, “I should know. He once very nearly broke my nose and t'was not too long ago. I say, he would probably make a fine boxer.”

Finally the Omega spoke though his tone was as cutting as his accent. “As if any of you foppish Lords would ever deign to allow your family to engage in fisticuffs.”

Edwin's tone was light and playful, “If he had a mind to learn how to fight, I should not tell him no. But I am not his mate. If I were, he should be able to do anything he wished. I daresay I've sampled his punch and he is no fragile flower. Assuming such was my worst mistake. How long have you been a boxer?”

“I presented at sixteen and have fought ever since.”

Edwin tilted his head as he carefully guided their steps through the waltz. “And so few injuries?”

“I have healed well and I am quick to win.”

“And what brings you to London, Mr. Muir? I cannot say we have a very large amount of Omega boxing. From my knowledge, one is more apt to come upon Alpha fights.”

There was a strange expression that came over Muir's face. He did not lose any of his steps as they danced but his eyes fluttered and for a second, it was almost as if he were in another time. His words were stuttered and were likely a lie. “Muh-my father. He wished for some company as he traveled.”

“I suppose then that all the posturing we do is for naught. You are not searching for a mate.” He allowed Muir a warm smile as he caught those fathomless hazel eyes with his own. The surprise in them was overt and Edwin carefully continued. “Please do not blame them overly. You know how Alphas are. They act as if they are foxes beset against a hen house rather than the cocks that protect them. Stealing away for scenting and kissing,” he scoffed, “It seems so damned ridiculous sometimes.”

Muir's mouth flattened, the corners just flirting with a smirk. “Am I to believe that you are encouraging my steadfastness against a mate? Are you not of the opinion that an Omega is by all rights meant to be owned?”

“ _Owned_?” Edwin gasped out a laugh. “Gracious, man. Absolutely not. Wherever on Earth would you have procured the idea that any man should own anoth—” He stopped short, swallowing his words quickly, taking on a hard tone. “Absolutely not. Never.”

“Merciful of you, Mr. Penberth.” His voice was mirthless.

“If I were kind to you, Mr. Muir, should you always relegate the gestures to mere mercy? Should I consistently make note to you that they are done out of respect? Admiration? Esteem?” The waltz was drawing to a close and as the set ended, Edwin could not help but take Muir's gloved fingers in his own, refusing to release the man's gaze. “Allow me to make my statement to you with that very sentiment. There is no societal barrier that should keep you from your pursuits. Not fear of the ton's rejection nor the bonds of a marriage. You are clearly capable of holding your own against the Lords of London and have no qualms in rejecting any Alpha should they come to the hen house with the cruelest of intentions. Before I leave you in the hands of your closest allies, I should be keen to ask you if you would allow me to call upon you again.” He wanted to bite his lip to punish himself for having blurted it out so openly—for having been so damned brash.

Muir was no doubt surprised at his forwardness. The Omega pulled his hands from Edwin's, taking a small step backwards before he seemed to remember himself. “I...I believe that would be...acceptable.”

As the next set began, Edwin took Muir's arm and hooked it around his own, scanning the ballroom before he guided the boxer toward the french doors where the breeze had cooled the air and freshened it significantly. “I urge you not to accept me simply due to etiquette, Mr. Muir. If you do not find me to be at all suited to your company, please do not hesitate to reject me outright. I should expect no less from you as you are so candid in every other aspect.”

Muir's confusion was evident and it became increasingly obvious that the Alphas had been terribly cryptic and had rather toyed with him like they were wont to do. As funny as it had seemed before, after Edwin had caught the sight of the handsome boxer, he could not let it continue in good conscience. Without the drive of scent that Alphas possessed, he had never even considered the idea that one day he would be so inexplicably drawn to an _Omega_ of all the dynamics. When Muir did not answer him, he was compelled to state his question as the sweetness of the cluster of Omegas loomed over them both.

“Mr. Muir, I shall ask again for all fairness. Will you allow me to call upon you?”

“Yuh-Yes. But...I have no need for a mate.”

Edwin felt his heartbeat quicken. “Then allow me to become naught more than your friend. I care not which.” It was a downright blackened horrible lie and he should have been struck down just for letting it pass through his lips. He could never allow any of the available Alphas to come close to _his_ Omega—a sentiment that he had formerly scoffed at heartily when his friends had mentioned such a thing. There was no ownership there but there was a clear sense of possessiveness that would not leave him alone. The boxer was _his_.

He deposited Muir among the front line of the Omegas, Miss Amelia Watson taking his other arm with a gentle tug that released him from Edwin. She flashed him a soft scowl of disapproval while she pulled the boxer into their midst and the rest of them fanned themselves uselessly, their scents having little affect on him. He bowed to them with a gentle murmur. “Ladies.” His eyes flashed to Muir who was doing his best to keep his shoulders and back straight. “Mr. Muir.”

Halwill put his hands out to his sides, palms up when Edwin strolled back to their group, the lot of which were stalling around the punch bowl.

“Penberth. What the Devil are you doing? The lads were all going to try to get a hundred pounds from my pocket.”

Edwin poured himself some punch and then popped a cucumber sandwich in his mouth before he turned around and shrugged at the Alphas who were all waiting for an answer. “He seemed tired.”

Rainton grumbled into his brandy. “Damn all you bleeding heart Betas.”

“If none of you have any designs for him, I suggest you leave him alone,” Edwin noted mildly. “He is not here on his own volition to my knowledge and would probably prefer to be let be.”

Rainton drew up. “And if we _do_ have designs for him?”

The Beta felt his lip twitch when he turned a dangerous gaze to the puffed Alpha. “Then I suggest you get to it and quit wasting all your time teasing him. Perhaps you should be in the library looking up some poems to send him with all the flowers you're buying on the morrow.” He looked at each of them in turn, his eyes finding Halwill's expression to be somewhat amused. A good sign. It meant that he was going to win.

Halwill shrugged one shoulder, glancing at the rest of the Alphas with a smirk. “Alright. Bet's off.” There was a collective groan as the Alpha turned back to Edwin and motioned for him to follow while he brushed past. When the two of them were out of earshot of the rest of the group, Halwill's lowered voice was curious and calm. “I suppose then that this is to mean you would like him to be invited to Georgette's little dinner she's planning next week? And the seating plan?”

Edwin blinked. Had he been so obvious? Had Halwill been able to scent his intermittent arousal? Had there been something in the tone of his voice that had given him away?

Halwill was grinning and he let out a short snicker. “You are always such the golden Lord, Penberth. The champion of every ugly duckling. You dance with all the plain-faced girls and here you are playing the game again as is usual. You see his scars and his scowl and you feel pity for him. You are much too honorable, Penberth. He is a _boxer_. Let him _box._ ”

Edwin sighed. “He is not a toy, Halwill. He did not come here to find a mate and he is not here of his own will. It would be nothing less than cruel to tease him and goad him so. Even as a boxer, he has a right to choose his fights. This is one he has not chosen for himself. I plead you to let him be.”

“Well,” his friend sniffed, “I shall relent to you. But I can make no promises for any of the eligible gentlemen who are not of our circle.” He was giving a pointed stare to the tall Alpha who was making strides around the group of Omegas, chatting with some of them while he attempted to get closer to the shy Mr. Muir.

Penberth felt his chest burn and he ground out his fury while his hands balled into tight fists.

“ _Kentworth_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edwin already has a crush, how did this happen? Oh boys. Just you wait.
> 
> Lady Hayworth is just going to have to stop inviting this asshole to her balls. How did he even get an invitation? Someone's fired.


	5. Chapter 5

Cyril didn't normally see red. It wasn't generally something that happened to men who were in the ring as the fight was meant to be a battle not only of blows but of wit. One had to have every faculty accounted for in order to block fists drilling in from the side and execute a perfect counter-punch in return. When it happened, he most certainly hadn't expected it either but then again, he should have known that something such as this could have occurred, especially with a bunch of _Alphas_ on their toes being driven crazy by one another's pheromones and the powerful cloying aroma of dozens of concentrated Omegas. Even with the french doors open, the two more volatile dynamics were on edge, Cyril included.

He wasn't _quite_ certain what had happened directly after an officious Lord Kentworth had made a casual remark to the group of horrified debutantes that he was certain Miss Amelia Watson was going to end up at the whim of some madam and _tipping the velvet_ for a few pounds a night. He'd already been in the perfect stance, having often placed his feet thusly just in case a need should ever arise. It had arisen, he supposed.

By the time the red had bled out from the sides of his vision, his struggle was successful and he found that he had been dragged not only outside but all the way down the stairs from the terrace onto the gravel path of the dark English garden. Neither of his fists were sore and he stared down at them in the dull moonlight, provided only by a small crescent of silver. He turned around to face whoever had prevented his blind rage to find a slightly winded and terrifically concerned Mr. Penberth staring at him with those intense green eyes. He had his hands out in front of him in his own defense, clearly ready for another punch to be thrown.

Cyril put his fingers through his sweaty hair and turned away, blowing a few breaths out through his mouth in an attempt to calm the adrenaline that had overtaken him in his anger. “I apologize,” he said, managing even in his apology to snap.

“You need not apologize to me,” Penberth chuckled. “If you had been in my own ballroom, I would have let you clout the bastard. Though I know not what he said, I know enough about him to have much relished his broken jaw.” Penberth shook one of his hands at his side, the one he had likely used to catch Cyril's blow. “You've got a _wicked_ left.”

It was the first thing a gentleman had said to him that night that had forced a grin to spread across his expression. He lifted his face toward the night sky and allowed himself to let out a short but meaningful laugh. When he brought his eyes back down to Penberth, he should have been more alarmed to find that the tall blonde had his hands in his pockets and a warm guileless smile. The man was tall and built like any of the other Alphas but his scent was a mystery to Cyril, having none of the sharpness that some of the others did that allowed him to pick them up as individuals. Not only that but he was careful to restrain his voice, making sure that it was not too grating for any of the Omegas, a trait that none of the other Alphas seemed to care to hone. As the Omega looked around them at the empty garden, Penberth took a step back and addressed the issue that was just starting to bloom in Cyril's brain.

“Oh yes. I suppose we are a bit alone out here. I assure you, you are perfectly safe from me.” He gave another deep bow. “They often chide me as Edwin the Honorable.”

Cyril was suddenly laughing again, his hand over his mouth to conceal his smile.

Penberth was delighted. “I am blessed to hear your laugh, Mr. Muir. Eventually, we should perhaps make our way to Lady Hayworth and she can forgive you for making a bit of a ruckus in her ballroom.”

“Surely it was not so bad,” Cyril said, hoping he was right. His father would be so disappointed to find that he'd thrown a swing at a potential investor.

“Of course not,” Penberth shrugged one shoulder. “My cousin once drove his knee into Kentworth's tallywags at a dinner party and he was still invited _everywhere_. You're golden, I swear to it. You did not even land a hit.”

“I am terribly embarrassed,” Cyril admitted to the casual and genuine blonde. “I normally never lose my temper. I have just never been in a place where a gentleman is allowed to speak of a miss in such terms.”

Penberth's smile was suddenly gone and his tone was sharp. “Terms? What terms?”

The Omega lifted his brows curiously. “Miss Watson. He made a few references to her future in pleasuring women at a cathouse. As he is a titled gent, I have only to assume that she has no recourse and, as I am a man of the ring, I must say I was inclined to come to her defense.” He chuckled again. “I wish that you had let me pound him at least once.”

Penberth wasn't smiling but his voice was full of appreciation. “From how hard you swung, lad, I'm fairly certain that once was all it would have taken. Come.” He made a small gesture with two fingers and turned, letting Cyril follow him back up the stairs to the terrace. They walked together as they both scanned the ballroom. The blonde's voice floated gently over his shoulder. “Lady Hayworth is at the top of the stairs. I am certain she will have heard about our little skirmish and you are the best one to charm her about it. I'll take care of Kentworth.”

Cyril felt a prickle of annoyance in his spine. “How is it that you get to take care of Kentworth and I am left with smoothing out the wrinkles?”

Penberth turned around with a smug smirk. “Because you're the chap who put the wrinkles where they are in the first place. You should have thrown your punch faster if you'd wanted to hit him.”

When he and the imposing Penberth split ways, he found that he nearly had to swim through the crowd to get to Lady Hayworth, finally breaking through all the Alphas who'd suddenly noticed him and grateful for the hostess's little flit of her fan to disperse them when they followed him. He gave the woman a sorrowful bow.

“I apologize, my Lady. I believe I caused a bit of a stir.”

She whapped him on the head with her fan as he was bowed to her. “Do _not_ apologize, Mr. Muir.” After he had brought his dazed eyes back to her she was standing with her hands on her hips with her shoulders tight. “You are most certainly not the one to blame for flustering the Omegas. I say, you _are_ a flustered Omega. I should have known that the man could not keep himself in line. His mother had promised me that he had learned his lesson but I believe it is fair enough to say that he's not meant for polite company, even if he _is_ a peer. He has left, as is only right.” She cocked her brow. “And you are not to apologize for coming to the defense of a miss.”

He nodded in deference to her. “I thank you, my Lady. I would have been sure to hit him if Mr. Penberth had not intervened. I have already thanked him.”

The clever brunette fluttered her fan and cracked a sly grin. “Oh, Mr. Penberth. Always the gentleman, isn't he? Perhaps Miss Watson should consider laying down her weapons for that one. If she is to be slandered across the ton for any unknown number of reasons, he should be the perfect hero to rescue her.”

“And what _of_ Miss Watson?”

Lady Hayworth sighed. “She seemed a bit overwrought so I offered her a room upstairs. Just for an hour or so to make sure she hasn't come down with a heat due to the stress. If she has, it shall be no issue for me to host her until she has come 'round again. It would not be the first time it's happened, certainly.” She tapped his sleeve with her fan. “You should go to her. Another Omega would be very calming for her and I saw your dance with her. She has very much taken a liking to you. I daresay they all have.”

“You are an observant woman, my Lady.”

She laughed prettily. “Two unmated Omegas dancing in my ballroom has a tendency to draw my eye. I am not one to judge matters between men and women. You are no threat to her safety, even if you _are_.” She glanced at him in a manner that he could only place as _conspiratorial_.

After a few more minutes of chatter, he was shown up to Miss Watson's room and allowed to enter alone. The room was ornate and obviously meant as a guest bedroom, the large four-poster bed draped with a beautiful light blue brocade that complemented the deep indigo of the carpet and the cobalt of the counterpane. He went to her where she sat against the fluffy pillows in no more than her chemise, comfortable and obviously happy to see him.

“Mr. Muir. I am overjoyed to see you. I suppose Penberth did not let you back in before Kentworth left to let you sock him right in his mouth?” Her voice was hopeful.

Cyril sat on the edge of the bed, twisted to face her. “Unfortunately not, my dear. I am only glad to see that you are doing well. Your coiffure is still pinned in the right places,” he chuckled, reaching out to a single curl that had been purposely left out near her ear. “No fever?”

“No, thank goodness. At least not yet. One never knows with these things. I am very much glad that you are with me now. Your scent is very calming.” She reached out her bare hand and touched his arm until he made to hold it. “You are so handsome, Mr. Muir. I say. I suppose it is very forward to ask about your scars.”

“I shall forgive you, if only because you are you,” he smiled. “I am a boxer. When one is a fighter, one tends to be hit in the face if one's opponent can manage it.”

Her eyes lit. “Penberth should be sent straight to the devil for catching your swing. A _boxer_. How terribly romantic.” She squeezed his hand and laughed at herself. “If anyone were to stop a fight, it would have been Penberth. Anyone else should have loved seeing you lay out that fool Kentworth. I hope you know that you'll be all the rage after this. An Omega taking a shot at an Alpha at a party? You'll be plastered all over the society papers by the morrow and they're going to _adore_ you.”

Cyril couldn't help but let out a laugh. “I threw a punch at an Alpha Lord, how could they adore me?”

She waved her hand at him. “The papers love to hear dramatic tales, especially when it comes to male Omegas. You'll be in-demand at _every_ dinner party. You have _flair_ , Mr. Muir.”

“And you?”

She quirked her mouth. “If they mention me, it will not be with such relish.”

“Much to their detriment,” he sniffed, drawing his fingers to her jaw. “You are the pretty one, after all. I have no need for dinner parties or balls. I have no want for a mate in the slightest. But _you_...”

She covered his hand near her jaw and pressed his fingers firmer against her while she tugged him closer, not satisfied until she had pressed her lips against his. Her kiss was sweet and inexperienced and Cyril kept it chaste even as it put a fragile tingle in the pit of his stomach. She brought his hand to her exposed collarbone and whispered against his lips. “I do not believe I _could_ have a care for a mate, Mr. Muir. All instinct aside, I fair say I could be quite happy with one of our own.”

If he were in New York, he would have parted those pretty lips and ripped her chemise right down the middle. But he wasn't in New York. He was in London and the woman who had kissed him was one who was, for all intents and purposes, pure. She was so for a reason and that reason was to procure the very mate for which she cared not. He sighed against her lips and pulled back even as she exerted a gentle pressure to get him to stay close to her. “Miss Watson,” he breathed. “As much as I would love to stay...as much as I would love to put my tongue to every inch of skin you possess...” He felt his heart beat skip at her blush. “I cannot provide for you in the same manner that a true mate can and it would be horribly delinquent of me to take something from you that I cannot possibly have the currency to repay.” He brushed her pinkish cheek with his gloved thumb and tilted his head at her. “Lady Hayworth suggested that you might perhaps pursue Mr. Penberth. He is quite the gentleman.”

Miss Watson let out a slight giggle, apparently not fazed at all by his rejection of her. “Oh, Mr. Muir. Penberth? There is a reason I kissed you, my love, and it is _not_ because I thought you were honorable.”

He gently tapped the tip of her nose with one finger. “If you were not a debutante in your season, I should have made you scream out my name, Miss Watson. But fate has thrown us a terrible hand and I must concede to it.” He stood. “As it is, I should return and inform the other Omegas that you are doing well.”

She shooed him off with one hand. “Call upon me, Mr. Muir. Do not be shy.”

As he wandered back downstairs to the ballroom, he let her kiss sink into his memory and he touched his lips with the tips of his fingers in fondness. It was not so odd to find such Omegas in New York but they were not prevalent in polite circles. The other boxers, managed by their Alpha handlers, would often take each other as lovers in secret as they were not allowed to mate lest it interfere with their training regimens. Cyril, the rare exception, had managed himself, having no Alphas to tell him what to eat, when to train, or who to have as a lover. Despite the natural drawback of not having one or more Alphas for his own protection, the freedom that came from being an independent Omega had been worth it if only for the perks of being exceptionally popular with the madams of the city who knew they were not to be harassed by his management team should he take his pleasure with their wares. He did not think he had ever before kissed a virgin and the prospect put a bit of red in his cheeks and his ears.

“Mr. Muir,” came a familiar and perilous croon as he was entering the main hall. He turned to find the ominous Viscount Halwill standing with a brandy in his fingers, his blue-black hair and crystal eyes shining in the flickering candle light. “You have gone to see the miss? Is she quite well?”

It was not a question he had been expecting from the intimidating Viscount. “Oh. Yes. I do not believe she is in any danger of...” He did not elaborate and the Viscount nodded knowingly.

“Good,” Halwill mused. “She shall not be bothered further.”

Cyril took a step or two closer to the Alpha. “Is that to say that you've all...”

His thick brow raised. “We have come to an agreement. Kentworth will not be a concern for any of the Omegas this season.”

He let the side of his mouth tilt upward and was pleased by Halwill's surprise at it. “Mr. Penberth had equated the lot of you with foxes beset against a henhouse rather than the cocks that guard it. I'm of the mind that perhaps he will be eating his words if what you say is true.”

“Do you need guarding, Mr. Muir?”

His fingers unconsciously moved to his cravat and he abruptly scowled at the Viscount. “I will fight my own battles, no matter their size.”

“No need to convince me,” Halwill grinned, sipping his brandy with his other hand in his pocket. “I believe you've proven yourself quite the warrior.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyril, you absolute mad man.


	6. Chapter 6

Edwin was tapping on his thigh with his thumb while standing in Halwill's library, his brandy half-gone and his wits flung far out afield. It had been a week and he had not sent Muir a single missive. He hadn't know what to _say_ in one. He'd sent plenty of small notes to Beta girls and even some of the more receptive Omegas in the past but they were all _women_. What did one say in a note to a very male American boxer that would imply that one was interested in courting but not so interested as to spook him? It was much a quandary and now he was to be faced with the prospect of sitting next to Muir at Halwill's dinner party—a fact that had eluded him until Georgette had casually mentioned bits of the seating arrangement after he'd arrived. He was to be seated directly next to not only Muir but also a Lady Bridgette Morton, a Beta girl that Georgette was certain would fill his needs quite suitably as she was the daughter of an Earl and would tie their families together well. He was certain that Halwill was teasing him by convincing his wife to put him next to Muir—a gesture that Georgette probably thought was as confusing as it was futile.

The issue was compounded when Muir arrived only to say that his father, a potential chaperone, was feeling ill that night and had decided not to come, leaving the handsome Omega rather alone among strangers. He could not possibly feel comfortable in the slightest, his scent emitting waves of slight annoyance and frustration while they all stood in the drawing room together, chatting amiably. Although there were plenty of other debutantes invited to dine, he was normally shut out from them, a gesture that was subtle but profound and a signature of determined Alphas who carefully kept him away from the groupings of Omegas with body language and the binds of social etiquette.

Edwin couldn't help but find himself just as frustrated by the display of power and eventually he was forced to collude with Marksdown to create an open path so that Muir could find his way to Miss Brewer and Miss Beechworth, his scent evening out and almost back to a sweet honeyed normalcy before they were all seated at the table for dinner.

He couldn't believe his misfortune when it turned out that Lady Bridgette was unusually chatty, monopolizing most of his attention while Muir was tentatively engaging with Lady Halwill who was mostly asking questions concerning what his plans were in London and what it was like to be involved in some ways with building hotels. From what Edwin could glean from his eavesdropping, Cyril seemed to be quite invested in his father's business and was almost excited by the work—suggesting that he, himself, was close at hand in the process. It struck Edwin as odd but, perhaps, for a man who was both an Omega _and_ a fighter, it should not be so shocking to find that he was fully capable of assisting with managing a multitude of hotels. For her part, Lady Halwill did not seem surprised in the slightest that an Omega should have been involved in what Rainton had called a “veritable empire.”

Lady Bridgette's fingers on his arm caught his attention again.

“The Alphas, your friends, they talk about how you were to marry your distant cousin, a little Omega chap named Hainsley. Is he well?”

“Mated,” Edwin mumbled. “He fell in with Asterly.”

She gave a pretty giggle. “The Duke? Oh goodness.” She raised her fingers to her mouth and Edwin slouched a little in the realization that Lady Bridgette had managed to get herself kissed by the former skirt-chaser. “It is at least a consolation that the man finally did find whatever it was that he was looking for.”

“Ah,” he grunted, picking up his wine glass and taking a few large gulps from it. He didn't want to talk about Hollow. He didn't want to talk about how much it had hurt when the little one had punched him in the face either. It had been more a blow to his pride than to anything else. Honorable as he was, he was stupid when it came to love. It couldn't even come as a surprise, after all. He wasn't an Alpha. He didn't have the benefit of finding an Omega who smelled better than the rest. He wasn't driven entirely by his hormones and some kind of insatiable lust that came over him and made everything so damned _convenient_. He had to actually _fall_ in love.

Through all of his thoughts, he had completely lost track of where he was looking and by the time he had regained his bearings, he found his unfocused sight directed toward Muir's fragile and yet masculine profile. He was entranced by that small scar that cut up from his upper lip, the delicate pink a tiny bit more puffy where it had split.

_What the devil is wrong with me?_

He flitted his gaze upward only to find that Halwill was staring at him with his wine glass in his hand, his eyes half-lidded and clearly amused as hell. Incensed at himself, Edwin picked up his own glass and drained it, only so relieved when a waiting footman came to refill it. When the dinner was over, he was practically beside himself at never having gotten up the nerve to engage Muir in any type of substantial conversation.

The ladies began to get up, intent to begin their night in the drawing room and Muir rose with them, much to Edwin's chagrin. Halwill, too far away to have scented his frustration must have seen it plain on his face for he put out his hand to Muir.

“Mr. Muir, why do you not join us for brandy? Any gentleman who has taken a swing at Kentworth is welcome at my table for a cigar and a drink.”

The Omega's consternation at the prospect of sitting in a room filled with Alphas and naught else was palpable and Georgette sniffed from the doorway to give her subtle opinion of the action. Muir merely sank down into his seat, accepting the offered brandy quietly and passing on the offer of the cigar. Halwill's gesture was highly unusual but, then again, there was much about Halwill that many of the other Alphas considered odd. His words were gruff.

“So Muir.” He cleared his throat and puffed out a bit of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. “Hotels.”

“Luxurious. Styled. Fitted with indoor plumbing in all the rooms.”

“All the rooms? Each and every one? Ambitious.”

Muir was sipping his brandy, his lone Omega scent becoming overburdened by the stink of the group of Alphas present. All eyes were on him.

“Your father is looking for investors.”

“Yes. He has been pestering many of you, I understand.”

There were a few chuckles from around the table.

Halwill continued. “Forgive me if I do not share his enthusiasm. His record is superb but I am hesitant to invest in anything that our Mr. Penberth has not given a thorough vetting.”

Edwin perked. It was true, after all. The Alphas, although sometimes taking their own risky ventures, were keen to watch what he had bothered to invest in because, in the end, he was the most prudent in his ventures and was certain to see a return. They often followed his example even while strutting before him and posturing with their Alpha status in front of him.

The Viscount leaned back in his seat. “Edwin the Honorable does not gamble. I have never seen the man place a bet that he was not sure to win. He is useless at cards. He is much too honest.”

“And you, my Lord? Are you a man of risk?”

Halwill smiled and passed glances around the table to the other Alphas. “In many ways. What about you, Mr. Muir? Are you a betting man?”

Muir's face finally spread into a hard grin and he took a swift gulp of his brandy. “I am not the man, my Lord. I am the _horse_.”

Rainton raised his glass. “Here here. We should be placing our bets, then?”

The Omega's grin did not fade but turned into a smug smirk. “Find me a ring, my Lords, and I will guarantee your pocket money to multiply.”

“A bold statement,” Hayworth muttered.

“Ah,” Halwill sighed, “One I am utterly intrigued by. What say you if we find you a ring, little boxer? Are you willing to hold to your words? I am loathe to speak for my friends but I am for certain interested in how you should fair in London as the fighter you claim to be.”

Muir chuckled lightly, possibly at the prospect of arriving at an underground boxing circuit while accompanied by a team of Lords. His amusement was punctuated by his statement. “Then I suggest you allay your curiosity and allow me to dazzle you. Even if I am to lose, it will have made for an entertaining evening.” His hazel eyes flashed in the dancing candlelight, hazy with cigar smoke. “Though, I must urge you not to place a bet on my opponent for I will _not_ be losing.”

The team of them were practically vibrating with anticipation throughout the evening, barely able to keep their attentions on the goings-on around them in the drawing room. Edwin was not _nervous_ per se, but more on the level of strained excitability. The girls seemed to notice, their noses or their intuition forcing them to become restless and uncomfortable. As no one was bold enough to wonder aloud why all the men were giving off such a strange atmosphere, most of the ladies and their chaperones simply began to retire or migrate to their coaches in order to go home somewhat early. Halwill didn't seem concerned in the slightest when his wife gave him a withering stare, knowing _somehow_ that he was to blame for what had happened at her party.

By midnight, five Alphas, Edwin, and one plucky Omega were passing the threshold of a dingy little basement stairwell into a large underground room filled with the almighty stink of dozens of unwashed Alphas and Betas who had come to place their bets. As was expected, their appearance in crisp linen and pressed black dinner jackets had an odd effect on the crowd, the din slowing while the gentlemen took off their hats. Halwill smiled at the quietness, the Viscount clearly pleased by the reaction.

“Who does one speak to in order to enter a fight?”

At first, there was no response at all, leading Halwill to tilt his head and sweep the crowd through the humid haze.

A brunette stepped forward, her tumbling masses of hair haphazardly pinned up and her shapely legs clad in dirty trousers over scuffed boots. She pulled a cigarette from her mouth. “My Lord,” she greeted. “That would be me, Trudy Milton, you can call me Tru. Interested in startin' a new hobby?”

He gave her a slight bow. “No, my dear. Although I say I could bet on one. Have you any Omega boxers?”

She barked out a laugh and kept it up until Halwill had gently pulled Muir forward, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder that made Edwin's nerves prick. She was still smirking. “Such a little thing. No. In fact, I haven' heard of any place that has Omegas. Best I can do you is a Beta, but that's if you don't mind his tight little arse being put in the ground.”

Muir's deeper-than-usual voice seemed to startle her a bit. “Give me the Beta.”

“Oh my, my,” Tru mused with a crooked smile. “Chomping at the bit, I see. Well I'll see if I can rake him up for ya if you're so sure about 'aving your toes up to daisies.”

When she disappeared back into the crowd, the din started to rise again, the prospect of seeing something so novel as an Omega boxer was too much for a few of the men and they began placing their bets immediately. Their own group turned inward.

Halwill shrugged. “Looks like some of them might know who you're up against, little one. You may have a hell of a time. There are some quite large Betas who would have no problems at all in a fight against an Alpha.” His eyes flickered over to Edwin and the reality of his own size seemed to seep into his gut.

_He could be as big as I am._

“Perhaps,” Edwin stated in a tone calmer than he actually felt, “It would be prudent to see his competition before we harbor any illusions as to his odds.”

It turned out that the man Tru brought to him was not quite as large as Edwin but was most certainly much bigger than the scrappy Omega. To his great surprise, there was no change in Muir's scent when he laid eyes on the Beta, the sweetness of his aroma remaining entirely calm with not a single ounce of fear or apprehension. In fact, he seemed much more at ease now than he had in the drawing rooms or ballrooms of the ton despite possibly being the only Omega in the entire establishment. It was a wonder the man wasn't overrun by the stench and emptying his stomach into a bucket and here he was completely and utterly calm.

Muir strolled into the gated ring and shed his dinner jacket, handing it to Rainton instead of the dirty little scrub who'd offered an arm for it. With careful movements, he unfastened his sleeves, tugged off his gloves, and untied his cravat. His sweet fragrance was only gaining in strength and with every bit of clothing he removed, the jeers grew ever more powerful.

The Beta was quick to strip to the waist, his shoulders broad and his body sturdy. He did not seem amused at all to be facing off against Muir and appeared almost bored, more interested in toeing at the straw on the floor rather than inspecting his opponent.

Edwin couldn't help but hold his breath when Muir shrugged off his shirt and gently folded it, handing it off to Hayworth before he turned around again. He was stunning. Every bit of him was lean and well-muscled. He was much unlike the delicate and whimpering Omegas who were well-formed but slight. No. He was pure concentrated power with animalistic fight trapped under his curiously tanned skin. The whooping and hollering over a half-nude Omega looking like Muir did could have set Edwin's whole heart ablaze. He felt almost betrayed by the idea that they could see _his_ Omega in such a manner, with his beauty and scent the absolute focal point of this fight. His lip twitched when Muir turned his head and the dim light of the lamps illuminated a dark ugly scar that encircled the boxer's throat. Edwin felt a low growl escape him, rumbling in his chest.

“Penberth?” Halwill asked, his brow cocking.

He didn't answer. His head swiveled about and he shot out his hand to the timid Beta boy acting as bookie. With a hard tone he ground out, “One thousand pounds. On the Omega.”

Rainton choked. “ _Edwin_.”

Halwill drew up as if he'd been slapped, Hayworth appeared as if he had swallowed a hairball, Griggsby's jaw was practically on the floor, and he was near certain that Marksdown was about to become a victim to a previously unknown heart condition.

Halwill leaned toward him, his voice low. “Lad, a thousand pounds is a lot of money.”

“And my odds are—”

“Not very good, my friend. Look at Muir. He is like a mouse to this man. We are going to have a devil of a time explaining to his father why we had to bring him home in a pine box.”

Edwin didn't retort but also did not rescind his bet, casting his gaze back to the nearly irresistible Mr. Muir who was alternating his weight from one foot to the next, shaking his hands at his sides in anticipation. His strong scent was spiced with his determination and his expression was inordinately calm. That hideous dark scar around his neck almost resembled a collar and the mere sight of it was enough to make Edwin's guts roll in his belly. Before he could mull on it any further, a sharp chime sounded and Muir's Beta opponent started swinging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyril's starting to make Edwin lose his damn mind. Him and all these questions about Mr. Hainsley. Listen, folks, he's over it.
> 
> Up Next: THE FIVE D'S OF DODGEBALL.
> 
> 1000 pounds is around 40-41,000 pounds in today's money. A bet limit could prevent this high of a bet in a place like this simply due to bookmaker strategies, but with the amount of bets that would be placed against Cyril, they would likely be able to pay out even if they didn't make a profit from him (which usually is unlikely because bookmakers are seriously evil and their systems of calculating odds are so whack, it's scary.) For the sake of the story, let's pretend we all don't know jack shit about betting models so Edwin can place a stupid high blood bet in a dingy underground tavern.


	7. Chapter 7

It only took a few swings for Cyril to find out exactly how fast his opponent was. Although somewhat quick, he was too much larger than an Omega to match him for speed and his footwork was sloppy, two traits that gave Cyril a great advantage when it came to his method. He dipped and hopped to avoid tight swings and hooks, forgoing his normal jabs that measured his opponent. The Beta had longer arms than he did and there was no doubt that at some point, he was going to try to pull Cyril into a tight hold around his neck—a trap in which he would hate to be caught. With a few passes, he deemed that the Beta was clever and most likely fought Alphas, teasing them into mistakes by which he could take advantage. He wasn't trying very hard for Cyril. He wasn't used to being cocky and that would be his downfall—as long as he didn't get his arm around the Omega's neck.

With all the information he needed, Cyril ducked under a wide swing and ripped him from the right with a powerful shot to his ribs before he twirled back around to the side of the ring with light steps, turning to judge how much the blow had come as a surprise. When the Beta seemed only annoyed, Cyril smirked and ducked in toward him, blocking his wild swings and placing a series of quick hits before he twisted himself under the Beta's arm and came up behind him, kicking him with one bare foot in his backside to force him to stumble forward.

The move had its intended effect. His opponent turned, his face red and mottled. “You little _bitch._ ”

As the fight continued, the Beta began to get more and more irritated with his inability to place a hit, his punches coming faster and with more frequency, any that did make contact being blocked by Cyril's elbow or forearm as he deftly whirled with light steps and grace as if he were dancing around the outside of the ring. Eventually, he tried for just what Cyril thought he might, his open hand the first clue to his intent as he seemed to come in for a sharp right hook, catching the back of Cyril's short hair in a strong grip in the attempt to pull him in for a stranglehold.

He dropped to a squat, several small clumps of his hair tearing out as he whipped his head and rolled backwards, springing to his feet only to be greeted by a right hook that he couldn't quite dodge in time. He was clipped hard at the edge of his chin, a blow that was, thankfully, glancing. One hit was enough for Cyril to recognize that it was high time to quit playing about. His counter was fast and disorienting as he released a series of quick right-handed jabs that set up the hardest left cross he could deliver.

The blow was devastating. An explosive spray of blood spurted from the Beta's nose as it crunched under Cyril's fist and the larger boxer stumbled backwards, his feet sliding on the straw under him. He landed flat on his back with a hard groan and Cyril was practically deafened by the roar that erupted around him. Blood gushed, trickling and pooling until it was soaked into the packed dirt of the basement floor.

He tapped the Beta on the thigh with his toes.

“Get up.”

He waited until the other boxer was on his feet again, blood still rushing from his obviously broken nose while a hard red spread from the center of his face, the swelling creeping under his eyes. The resulting bruise was going to be impressive on the morrow and Cyril grinned to himself while he dodged another set of wild swings, his opponent's movements getting sloppier as he tried to fight through the pain and dizziness that plagued him. As hard as he fought, he could not fully recover from Cyril's damaging throw and was further disoriented by a few solid combinations before a hard left hook to his jaw sent him tumbling to the floor again.

The Omega shuffled in a circle away from the fallen boxer, waiting for the man to either get up or be dragged out. A tickle on his chin reminded him that he'd been hit at least once and he wiped at it, unsurprised to find that he'd been cut.

_Always a bleeder. Some things never change._

The crowd around him was going absolutely wild, strong Alpha palms beating on the wooden sides of the ring while they screamed out their frustration or their triumph. He scanned them, wiping his sweat from his brow with the heel of his palm and searching for his pack of Lords. When he did find them, they appeared rather smug.

_As they should._

Only Penberth was looking at him with a curiously warm expression. A knowing smile that was disconcerting and put a strange feathery sensation inside his chest. He mirrored the smile, uncertain as to its inherent meaning while he shuffled over to where the blonde stood on the other side of the wall. He had to nearly shout to be heard.

“I hope you didn't think I wasn't going to get grazed.”

Halwill broke his concentration on Penberth, jarring him slightly. “No, boy, we thought you were going to get turned into raspberry _jam_. It seems as though Penberth is the only one of us who didn't think you were damned from the start, he's made out like a _bandit_ on your odds.”

The blonde offered his hand and Cyril took it, the soft white kid of the gentleman's glove flowering with smudges of blood. The boxer was pulled by Penberth's marvelous strength and was easily helped up and over the side of the ring where he pulled on his shirt and toed into his shoes, forgetting entirely his waist coat, cravat, or dinner jacket. He was not touched by anyone else although he received many cheers and several suggestive remarks from a few spectators.

Tru's heavy feminine tone caught him while she counted out Penberth's winnings easily: a fair sign that the establishment had taken a large amount of wagers against him. “Devil of an Omega you Lords brought. Fancy to see you all again but I'm afraid he's knocked out my only Beta who's willing to take the Alphas.”

“I'll take an Alpha,” Cyril said, not looking at her.

She laughed. “I'd give you one if there were an Alpha alive who could bring himself to swing at you. I'm nearly damn sure you could break one. Perhaps a rematch with Cedric whenever he wakes up and heals his pride.”

There were plenty of Alphas who would have loved to have taken a swing at him in New York. His fingers unconsciously moved to the side of his neck, tracing that dark discoloration that served as a reminder of what _Alphas_ could do. If he could have matched their strength, things would have been so different. If he'd been strong enough, none of it ever would have happened.

A soft touch brought him away from his thoughts. Penberth had gently run the backs of his fingers across Cyril's shoulders and when he looked up, the towering blonde was concerned. “Alright, Muir?” he asked in that low, mild tone that had a particular calming effect over his mind. If only he could have smelled the man. It was nearly impossible to know what he was thinking as his Alpha scent was a complete mystery and often his expressions were vague and mystifying. It was the first time he'd ever considered the loss of his scent a true detriment to his ability—what was Penberth thinking? What was he feeling? Why did he touch Cyril so? Why did he _care_? He wanted to pull the man down and bury his nose in the softness of his cravat just to see if the concentration of his scent would break through Cyril's brokenness.

He didn't answer Penberth's question but led his pack of Alphas outside before he rounded on them. “I thought you all were betting men and here I find that Penberth is the only one man enough to place a wager on me?”

The Alphas appeared rightfully sheepish at his admonishment.

“Did you all not think I was strong enough?” The Alphas flinched at his words and the small reaction left him with power. “Fine then. I will expect your wagers to come as investments in my father's hotel. It is not yet too late. All of you will come for a sip of brandy. He is likely to still be puttering about with his plans and letters.”

They did not argue him and they all made their way to the Muir town house, sweeping in as an unquestionable storm of Alphas who, as Cyril was satisfied to note, took Barker by complete surprise, the stuttering and bumbling butler struggling to keep up with the task of collecting all the jackets and hats while Cyril kicked off his shoes and, barefoot, padded toward the drawing room.

“Young sir, sir!” Barker yelped down the hall but Cyril was far past caring, shuffling his feet across the carpet toward the decanter on the side table. Only after there was a brandy in his hands and the Alphas were filing into the drawing room could Barker catch up with him. “Sir, your father...”

“Yes,” Cyril waved his hand around before he wiped his palm over his bare neck, reminded suddenly that whenever his father _did_ make an appearance, he would see him half-dressed and reeking of a hundred unwashed men. He chuckled. “Send him in to talk to his investors I've charmed as a dutiful son.”

The Alphas were grinning while they poured themselves their brandy and took their seats, each of them lounging back save for Penberth who remained standing by the door.

Barker was giving him a nervous scowl and his teeth were gritted together. “Sir, a word?”

Cyril rubbed at his eyes with his free hand and grumbled that he'd had too many words that night when he shuffled out into the hall with the servant, his patience wearing thin. He wasn't sure if the ringing in his ears was caused by the remnants of his match or from the words that tumbled out of Barker's mouth.

“Your father is resting upstairs. He is not well, Mr. Muir. It is his heart.”

He couldn't feel his fingers and an unfamiliar welling panic started to overtake him. He couldn't speak, his breath coming only in shallow sips until a huge presence was suddenly behind him, warm and supportive. That excessively placid tone tingled over his flesh while Penberth asked the butler to lead them to the room. He was guided by a light hand on his back, his feet dragging with every labored step toward his father's room where they were bade to enter. He started taking in larger breaths when he found his father awake, reading from a collection of Chaucer with his spectacles perched low on his nose. He came to his bedside, leaving Penberth at the door. Dropping to his knees, he could feel his lower lip tremble while his father stared at him over his spectacles with a heavy frown.

“What on Earth are you so damned upset about, Cyril? And by God, have you been fighting? You smell like a cheap whore.” His gaze raked over his appearance. “You look like one too. Where are your clothes? I send you to a dinner party alone and you come back looking like a...”

He shot both his hands out and grasped at his father's, bowing his head between his arms to dip his forehead against the counterpane. Relief was flooding through him and he trembled hard, squeezing the older Alpha's hand with desperate emotion.

“Ah,” his father said, his smile apparent in his voice. “Barker is a bit of an alarmist, I swear to it. It is a bit of indigestion, that is all.”

Cyril snapped his head up, heat in his voice. “And what if it is not!? What if you are to leave me? I am not ready. I am not ready. You can't! Not _here_. Not _now._ ”

“I am not dead, you stupid boy.”

He felt a mixture of grief and rage rippling through him hard and with a determined resolve he had used many a time before, he took in a deep breath and smashed it down, pushing it back until all he could feel was cold.

His father squeezed against his hands and whispered with pride. “ _That's my son_.” With a louder tone, he sparked Cyril's attention upward. “And who is this you've brought with you?”

He glanced over his shoulder, only a small bit surprised to find that the blonde was still standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his expression passive. Penberth answered the question, taking a few steps forward and giving a polite bow while Cyril stood, standing to the side with his chin up and his emotions safely tucked away.

“Mr. Penberth, sir. My father is Baron Belcourt. Your son had thought that perhaps you would be working. He brought a few of us to speak of investments. Obviously you are indisposed at the moment and another date should be better suited. I shall have the Lords leave their cards with your man so that you may call upon us all at another time.”

“Blast,” the older Muir swore. “It is fate that has done this to me. I suppose it cannot be helped. Thank you, Mr. Penberth, that must do. I hope Cyril hasn't done too much to appall you gentlemen this evening.” He gave another disapproving glance over Cyril's appearance, his mouth tight.

“Much to the contrary,” Penberth smiled, the expression tickling inside Cyril's chest again, loosening his resolve if only to allow for that warmth to spread out and tease his stomach. “In fact, I believe I am quite impressed, as are the Lords. If your son is so capable and tenacious, I have only to assume that he has gained such traits from his excellent parentage.”

“No need to flatter me, lad,” he replied gruffly. “I have only to thank God that Cyril's fighting spirit did not embarrass me as it has threatened to in the past. I will have my son entertain you, as he has been so successful already tonight, it seems. Forgive him, Mr. Penberth. He is a proud Omega, a trait that I have recklessly encouraged.”

They were dismissed and Cyril paused in the hallway with only Penberth. There were no bells ringing in his mind of the danger that came with being so close and so alone with an Alpha, the blonde huge in his presence but somehow lacking the looming nature of his kind that placed him instinctually as an opponent to an unmated Omega. The feeling was a strange one, one that Cyril had never before encountered. How could he be so calm while so near to a being that could destroy him as he had been destroyed before? How could he feel so secure and comfortable with a man who, at the base of everything, could drive him into humiliation, pin him down and take whatever he wanted without consequence? He drew himself up to his full height.

“Thank you, Mr. Penberth. I admit, I had a shock.”

“No need. It is understandable for you to have been distraught. He is your father, and he loves you. He seems well for now and we shall perhaps find our way to the others. They are no doubt concerned for you.”

There was something else in those green eyes. A shimmer of something as if the man had more to say to Cyril that he was holding back. It never came and so the two of them made their way down the stairs again to the drawing room where the men all stood suddenly as he walked into the room.

“Your father,” Halwill blurted. “He is alright?”

Cyril shuffled forward and accepted another brandy from Rainton's hand, holding it to his belly while he sighed. “For now, yes. He claims it is nothing.” How he wished that could have eased his worry. He had fought for so long against the prospect of marriage but now—when it seemed as if his father were not immortal, every anxiety over the idea was crashing over him but all he could feel was that pervasive cold that he had forced over himself. If he were not to marry... “I apologize. I must be a fright to behold. It is just that...” He needed to vomit it all out. He needed it to be gone from his shoulders. It was sudden and it even more horrifying when said aloud. “If he is to die, I will be challenged for my inheritance. I will lose everything. I have worked so hard to learn to take his place but because of what I am, I will never live to hold his legacy. It is as if I am walking on the Earth under a curse that cannot be lifted. I am the only son of the great Charles Muir and I will be left in the gutter without him.”

“Surely there are solicitors who can protect you,” Halwill murmured. “You cannot be left destitute.”

“I have but one sure course that will protect me. That would allow me to hold the empire I have been trained to manage without having to fight for my right to do so.”

Hayworth nodded with a grimace. “Simple. You must marry.”

A faint apprehensive feeling uncoiled among the Lords, their shoulders tight as the gears clicked in their minds. Halwill muttered, his words prompting a few nods of agreement.

“It is not just that Muir must marry. It is that he must marry a man who will not wrest control from him. I see where your worry lies, little one. You are the heir.”

Rainton leaned forward. “Then, I say, men. There are three of us here that he should have his pick from.” He cast his eyes over Griggsby and Penberth with an expectant expression. “We should be glad to help.”

“No,” Halwill murmured, placing the side of his finger against his lips while his eyes unfocused in thought. “No... He needs someone who is not a threat. Someone who is steadfast, intelligent, and above all things, he requires a man who is honest.” The Viscount's clear blue gaze sharpened hard on Cyril and he stated his opinion decisively, his words like a whip cracking in the stillness of the drawing room. “He should marry Penberth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nobody makes me bleed my own blood!"
> 
> Up Next: Edwin: _*internal screaming*_


	8. Chapter 8

Edwin kept his face entirely passive as Halwill made the announcement that he'd known was coming as soon as “steadfast” had escaped his lips. It wasn't as though the idea had no merit, it was simply not how Edwin would have preferred to bring up a proposal. He had not even had a chance to court the American and now they were discussing his marriage as if it were a business transaction, a mere cog in a machine to maintain a status quo. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't passionate. It wasn't anything how he would have imagined asking Muir to marry him. When he had suggested marriage to his cousin, it had not even occurred to him that their courtship could have been passionate so the presentation hadn't seemed to matter. Here, with Muir, he felt almost cheated by its forthrightness and the suggestion having come from another man's words. Even still, he looked at Muir, keeping his expression even.

The Omega's gaze was on him, his sweet scent hinting at trepidation while his wide eyes conveyed a type of strange fear that was bizarrely missing from his aroma. He had already demonstrated his ability to quash his negative emotions while upstairs and it was likely that there was something troubling him that would not be as apparent as it could be in others. Edwin wondered if such a thing was a strategy he employed before his fights—so that his opponent could not scent any fear.

Suddenly realizing that the room had been silent for too long, he stammered out his own response. “Oh. O-of course.” He gave a definitive nod. “If it would please you, Mr. Muir, I would be happy to marry you. I should also be more than happy to sign an agreement to allow your full control over your father's interests apart from my own estate.”

_I would be happy to pledge my entire life to your happiness. To merely hold that strength in my arms even just once. To hear your pleasure from your lips. To see your eyes sparkle as you laugh every morn. My God, please marry me, Cyril Muir._

“Just like that?” Muir choked. “Just like that, you would marry me. On a whim?”

Edwin's brows knitted even as they quirked upwards together. He took in a short breath and then couldn't fathom of what he wanted to say in response. It was not quite a whim, he thought. But how was Muir to know such? He had been so...forward. So direct. So damnably mild. Of course it did not make any sense to the Omega that one who had not displayed any true attraction would be willing to throw away his bachelorhood on a stranger. “Hardly a whim,” he mumbled. “I find you very pleasing.”

“Pleasing?” Muir asked incredulously.

“That is...not quite the term, I assure you.” He was fumbling and he could feel his cheeks growing hot with his embarrassment.

The Omega put down his brandy and threw up his hands and then laced his fingers on the top of his head, briefly poking his tongue between his lips in thought before he turned toward the fire. “My whole life, I have been fighting against every moment that an Alpha felt he knew what was best for me and here I am, facing the _whims_ of you Lords. I cannot even believe that I have given credence to this suggestion. But what other options do I have?”

Halwill leaned back. “Throw yourself to the mercy of the courts, the mercy of the ton, or allow Penberth to court you. Knowing what I know of Edwin, if I were in your position, I would be fair _skipping_ to the alter.”

“I will have to think about it.” His hands came from his head to the edge of the mantle as he leaned. “I promise not to force you to wait overly long, Mr. Penberth. I would not want to cause you any undue stress over my indecisiveness. I'm told that it is a nasty little trait we Omegas share.”

Edwin swallowed, forcing his tone to remain placid. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Muir. I will wait however long is necessary.” It was not entirely a lie. He would wait until the stars fell from the sky for Cyril Muir. What he could not abide was the thought that another should have the honor of his hand. That pressing notion that Muir was _his_ Omega was weighing on him again and continued to do so even as he made his way home. It consumed his dreams as he slept and even when he woke in the morning, he was plagued by the fanciful notion that perhaps, through some twist, he should wake up one day to find that he was free to roll to his side and embrace the fiery man who haunted him.

He sat at his small writing desk in his room and dipped his pen in ink, scribbling out a missive, pondering over it for a little while before he pulled out another bit of parchment and rewrote the note with several small edits and in a flowing and careful script that he thought might have betrayed his care. If only Orwell had come to London for the season, he could have asked the man what he might have thought Muir could have wanted in lieu of flowers. The boxer, although an Omega, didn't seem much disposed to being charmed by such frivolous things but Edwin wasn't sure what else he could have sent instead. Grumbling with his inability to determine a suitable gift, he tucked the note into an envelope and left it on his desk without address.

After his breakfast, he found his father ruminating over some estate business that had come from a messenger, his fingers gently stroking his graying beard while he sat at his massive desk in the study. He sat in the chair across from his father and waited to be acknowledged, leaning his cheek on his closed fist.

“Edwin?” his father mused.

“What does one give an Omega as a gift?”

“The same items one bestows upon a Beta, I would imagine. You've sent plenty of roses, carnations...” The Alpha was studying the letter in his fingers. “Are such gifts not appropriate now?”

“He is a man.”

His father snickered. “Roses are not acceptable for male Omegas?”

Edwin sighed. “He is...different.”

The Baron finally put down the letter and put his full attention on his only son, leaning on his arms while he smirked knowingly. “Are you quite certain this is a cause that you wish to champion, boy? He does not require your pity and you are in no way obligated to rescue him from an uncertain fate.”

“How did you...”

“It is not to difficult to deduce that Muir was not only in London for his hotel. He is looking for eligible Lords who will marry his son to secure his empire and tie him into a family of some repute. He has not only been extolling his own accomplishments, he has been dangling his unmated son and his considerable fortune in front of the drooling ton. If I may be so bold as to suggest it, Edwin, the boy is of questionable virtue.”

“I care not about his virtue.”

“Boy, it is one thing to suggest that you marry your cousin in convenience. It is quite another to suggest that you marry an absolute stranger, an American no less, with no witness to his chastity and no guarantee of his loyalty.” His father rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefingers. “His wealth is immense, his assets plenty, but at what cost to your happiness if he is to shame Belcourt?”

Edwin stared at his father's pen where it stuck out of the open well and was at a loss.

“You are the most genuine soul I have ever met, young Edwin, and I am so proud of how you have grown into such an honest man. I admire you openly for how you can lay down your life and your future for a man you barely know simply to rescue him from uncertainty. But you do not know him.”

“No,” he blurted, closing his eyes. “I do not. But I want to marry him, father. I _want_ to.” He opened his eyes again and leveled them at the Alpha. “Of my own volition, not because it is the right thing to do. Because he...because _I..._ ” There was something he couldn't seem to grasp. He couldn't put into words what he felt when he had waltzed with the strong Omega, when he had watched him fight. His cheeks grew pink while warmth spread through him.

“I will not stop you, Edwin,” his father smiled. “If you truly believe that having him would make you a happy man, I shall never stand in your way. You have my blessing to do as you will. It is difficult to know exactly how you feel if you do not state it outright. Your scent is not so pronounced and you do much to keep yourself aloof. If you are to capture an Omega, Edwin, you will have to perhaps be more convincing in your declarations.”

He sputtered. “How does one...how does one be more convincing than to state one's intent?”

His father's brows arched in surprise. “Oh, you have?”

“I told him that I should be happy to marry him.” Edwin was puzzled by the barking laughter that came from across the desk, the deep Alpha rumble driving even more heat into his cheeks with his frustration.

“Oh you poor boy. You may look much like an Alpha but you are truly a Beta in your heart. An Alpha does not passively shrug into a marriage.” He made a hard gripping motion. “He _takes_ what he wants. He is _convincing_ and forward. Have you never kissed a debutante, Edwin? I fear not. If you are to have an Omega, he must know that you are strong enough to give him what he needs.”

“And what is that?”

“ _Passion._ Omegas are feisty and volatile. They are fickle little creatures who need to be able to feel _wild_ and _worshiped_. Do you understand?”

Edwin swallowed. “You are telling me to kiss him.”

“You know romance, Edwin. You are a fool when it comes to _lust_.”

He bit his cheek and let out a sigh through his nose. “Is this to say that I should send him roses or not?”

His father banged a fist on the top of his desk. “The next time I hear about this American, I expect to be met with the revelation that my son has been stealing his breath behind the hollyhock! Damn the roses!”

“And if he is of questionable virtue, how is that going to endear me to him further than the passions of the Alphas before me?”

The Baron's shoulders slumped and a low growl escaped him. He sat back in his seat and waved his hand in the air. “A rose. One. If you must have this American over _all_ the other debutantes.”

“I must.” He gave a grave nod. “He is _my_ Omega.”

“And if you were an Alpha, the sentiment would go unquestioned. As it is, I am wary. I should like to meet him soon. To see what all of your pining is over.”

With a slight grumble, Edwin stood and set about the task of procuring a rose to send with yet another rewritten note to the attractive boxer. He mulled everything in his head while went about his errand. His father had never before given him any such advice, the assumption being that his title would have been enough to gain him a sufficient Beta mate who would, if not love him, make him happy in the typical manner that was expected of wives. She would run his household, host his parties, and manage the servants while mothering his pups—it was a life that was the goal for most of the debutantes. Muir was an anomaly—a man who was going to hold his father's legacy on his shoulders. He would travel the world. He would fight tooth and nail if he had to to get what he needed.

Late in the afternoon, he was handed a letter addressed from _C. Muir,_ his heart pounding in his chest only for it to read that a meeting discussing his interest in investments was to take place later on that week with Mr. _Charles_ Muir. He let out a pained cry and threw the damned thing on the side table in the front hall while he covered his face in his hands.

Cyril Muir and all those damned hotels were going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good advice...for anyone _else_. Poor Edwin.
> 
> If anyone's interested, my instagram is **asleep19**. It's all selfies, nature, and pictures of my tiny african lovebird. Because who doesn't love a tiny parrot?


	9. Chapter 9

_Dearest Mr. Muir,_

_I sincerely apologize if my reaction to the prospect of marriage was in some way tepid. I assure you that I am very much in favor of becoming your husband and I should like to in some way demonstrate my eagerness to secure your acceptance of my hand. Please allow me to impress upon you my sincerity in this regard._

_Yours,_

_Penberth_

* * *

It was nothing Cyril was used to. He found himself reading it over and over again with the single rose in one hand and his face screwed into befuddlement, the missive hardly a love note in the slightest and definitely not resembling any of the notes he had been left by his admirers back in New York.

_Are all of them like this in London?_

Of all the words that Cyril could have focused upon scrawled into the parchment, his eyes targeted one of the smaller, more inconspicuous of the grouping. _Yours._ He contemplated it seriously, frowning at the slip of parchment. In that single word, the blonde had revealed more than in the entirety of the work and with its choosing had laid out the structure of his thoughts. Penberth was _submitting_ to him? Without any idea of how to respond, he tucked the note under his pillow and placed the rose on his desk, confident that someone, probably Barker, would clip the stem and place it in a vase. He still had not decided whether or not he would wed the “eager” Alpha, unable to make peace with himself and his dreams.

They still came to him. He would awaken in a terrible cold sweat, his hands desperately gripping at his throat. The images of his clawing fingers in the dark while he was held down by incredible strength. The feeling of bruising hands on his hips, hot cigar ash falling onto his naked back, and that horrible, _horrible_ breathlessness. Alphas did not submit. Omegas submitted. Alphas _took_ what they wanted with _force_ and violence and heaven help any man who stood in their way.

Penberth could be no different. He was restrained for now. But what of the time when everything was his? What of the moment when he realized that he could do what he wished with both the empire _and_ Cyril? The promise in those shining green eyes argued against such thoughts but Cyril pushed that aside. Alphas were born manipulators. They were not content to hold to _promises_. Even those unspoken that were held in their eyes.

He did not respond to Penberth's letter and did not see him again until the afternoon that the pack of Lords arrived together, their presence again putting Barker on edge even as he had help from the maids with their jackets and hats. Their towering forms filed into the drawing room and Cyril stood in order to bow appropriately. He tried not to look at Penberth too much as his father explained the ins and the outs of his London venture and the undoubted successes of his business model in Buffalo, New York, and Paris, all three cities thriving. The presentation was convincing, his father a natural born charmer but Cyril could still sense that despite everything the older Muir was saying, each and every Alpha's eyes were occasionally flitting to where _he_ sat.

When the presentation was over, the Alphas were invited to remain for dinner and to his great displeasure, they maneuvered him to sit beside his father with Penberth on his other side. At least the blonde did not seem too willing to monopolize him despite the plentiful reasons that he could hold to do so. He was quiet for most of their supper aside from basic pleasantries. Cyril was nearly finished with his pheasant before his dinner neighbor's subtle voice broke through his focus.

“I apologize if I was too forward. With the flower...”

He felt warmth in his face at the Alpha's apology. Such a thing was very foreign to him. He had to admit to himself that he had never heard such a thing from the lips of any Alpha he'd ever known. Cyril almost couldn't find the words to respond. “Think...think nothing of it.”

He almost hated that the man could wear on him. That he could put this inexplicable fluttering in Cyril's body. A warmth that seemed to follow him whenever the blonde was around—when he gazed down at Cyril with those honest eyes. It was...disconcerting. He had never before met any Alpha who was content to wait for days at a time in uncertainty for an answer to a marriage proposal, who were seemingly unbothered by their missives remaining unanswered, and who had a strange propensity for being so _unpretentious_. Not only this but it seemed that these inherent traits that Penberth so nobly embodied were, to Cyril, somehow _endearing_. It was enough to boggle the mind and set the poor Omega on edge.

_When is the other shoe to drop?_

His father's pale tiredness after dinner when they were all collected in the drawing room was enough to remind him that he may not have had the luxury of enough time to sort it all out. Penberth, although a puzzle, was perhaps his best chance at securing his future. Still, as he lay in his bed that night, staring unseeing into the dark, he held himself and wondered how he would ever let another Alpha touch him again. Even if he closed his eyes, he would still know that an Alpha's hands were on his body and with his broken nose, he was practically immune to an Alpha's scent during his heat—leaving him entirely conscious to the pain of a knot. It wasn't as if he could lay down rules. An Alpha would never— _never_ —abide by any demand that he not be knotted, that he not be taken in certain positions...that he never be held down. He covered his eyes with his hands and groaned hard before he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.

* * *

There was a ball a few nights later to which he showed up again alone, a fact that was not unnoticed by much of the ton and one that he was certain would make its way into the society papers speculating on his brashness and his questionable intentions. Fortunately, it was a fanciful masquerade and despite being completely noticeable with his sweetness following him wherever he went, he felt at least a little guarded behind the slim black domino mask over his eyes. With a short greeting to the hostess, Lord Griggsby's elderly mother, he strode through the shimmering light with as direct a path as possible to the already-formed cluster of overly-feathered and brilliantly masked Omegas who were practically overflowing with lace and giddiness.

Miss Watson wordlessly offered him her hand and he bowed to her, kissing the backs of her fingers before he led her for a dance, an event he had been eagerly awaiting.

“You're worried about something,” she mentioned airily.

He sighed. “I have been thinking about my prospects.”

“Every Omega in London has been mulling the same issue. I thought you were to avoid a bond?”

“A man in my position has to begin looking past his next fight if he is to survive in the event his current benefactor disappears.” He deftly twirled her. “I have to think of my future as heir to my father's business.”

“And what are your prospects?”

“Well, I suppose anyone who is eligible.”

She narrowed her eyes behind her glittering gold mask, the decorative pearls shining in the warm light. “Are all Americans as arrogant as you are, or is that simply a Muir trait?”

He laughed. “If I could marry you, Miss Watson, I would be on my knee in an instant. Tell me. Who do you think my prospects should be?”

“For a boxer? For an American? For the talented, reckless, _depraved_ Mr. Muir? I'm sure I've no idea. Although, you should consider someone who would balance you out quite well. Perhaps Griggsby? I am certain his mother invited you for that reason and he should be fairly keen for a dance with you. He is often quiet among the Alphas and perhaps he would serve well for your purpose?”

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “Perhaps Mr. Penberth?”

“Ah,” she grinned. “The true opposite to your hotbloodedness. He is handsome, available, kind...” Miss Watson giggled. “He would do well for you but where is his _fire_? You do not want excitement?”

He made a soft noncommittal sound as the dance drew to a close and they naturally melted into the pile of waiting Omegas, each of them that he had formerly met touching him with light fingers on his sleeves and shoulders to compliment his dancing and those that he had not met yet giving him curtsies and their small hands for him to formally greet them. Just as he was sure he had gotten them all, he caught sight of the unmistakable form of Penberth heading out to the well-lit garden, the paths free for strolling with many torches distributed over every stone bench and every corner as if it were to dissuade gentlemen from taking advantage if they were to take the debutantes for a walk.

Most of the time, the garden was the place that Omegas _never_ ventured at night lest they be pulled into a dark corner and ravished, compromising them beyond repair. For Cyril, it meant that he would simply have to be on his guard and that was all. Overly confident, he bade adieu to the girls and slipped through the crowd, sliding about in order to avoid curious Alphas who were sniffing him out. He wanted to talk to _one_ Alpha—Penberth. He wanted to give the man a chance to demonstrate his “eagerness,” whatever that meant.

_He probably means to give me his scent._

Cyril hadn't taken into account what he might do if presented with that particular strategy. If Penberth was of the mind to tilt his head and allow the Omega to scent him, he did not know whether or not he wanted to pretend that it was lovely or if it he wanted to be more demure about his acceptance of it. Obviously, his own scent had not disgusted Penberth in the slightest and would likely be at least acceptable.

He popped out the door to the garden with a tad bit more speed than he had planned, having to dodge a potential suitor on his way and of course he ended up nearly crashing into Halwill who had been passing just outside. Without words, the Viscount chuckled and turned the Omega's shoulders and gave him a slight push in the proper direction before he turned toward the door and shooed the other Alphas that had followed him back inside—terribly _convenient_ , if he stopped to think about it. Fortunately, he didn't ponder it overly and he put his hands in his pockets to seem casual even as he hurried along under the torches to find where Penberth was admiring the apple blossoms. His shoes crunched against the gravel of the path, drawing the tall blonde's attention.

“Mr. Muir?” His face, covered only just so by his black domino mask, was dappled by the flickering light of a torch that shone through the apple tree's gently swaying branches, that damnable smile on his lips that made Cyril feel... _feel!_ “I was told that the trees were blooming and I always have found them quite beautiful. We have plenty of apple trees at Belcourt but I always seem to be in London for the season when they come to blossom. I should say that they must be so lovely, if I could only see them in their glory.”

Cyril felt his gloved hands curl at his sides. “I did not come for the apple blossoms. I came to ask you about your note.”

Penberth was still smiling when he closed the distance between them, his presence entirely nonthreatening, even with his height not looming in the slightest, merely a flesh and blood man standing before him as if he were presenting himself as an equal. What it was about him that gave such an impression, Cyril couldn't pinpoint and it warred inside him with every moment that passed, with every second he had to study the gentleman in his entirety.

His already mild voice was quiet. “I am quite sincere in my intent. To marry you, Mr. Muir. My statement at Hayworth's ball, that I would be content to remain your friend: admittedly, that was a fabrication. With the revelation that you are in need of a spouse in order to retain your inheritance, I feel that it is only appropriate to confess to you that I have found you quite irresistible ever since I laid my eyes upon you on the terrace that night.”

Cyril's brain was tumbling toward a precipice that he was not prepared to fall from.

Penberth continued, undaunted. “In light of the circumstances, I have become aware that perhaps I am much too passive for your liking, as you are a quite active and bold Omega, which is another part of you that I am much attracted to, do not mistake.” His cheeks were flushed in the dim light. “It...it is...difficult for me...” He took a breath, his gaze falling to the gravel at his feet. “It takes much to upset me and though I am no stranger to high emotion, I am unused to emitting strong reactions. But...” He looked up and there was a bizarre determination in his expression. His large hands raised and he gently tipped Cyril's face up with his thumbs below his jaw, careful not to graze against his still sore chin.

 _He's going to kiss me._ The thought came as a stupid internal mumble and Cyril did absolutely nothing to stop it from happening, even as the handsome gentleman's lips covered his in a soft but profound kiss that sent a powerful tingle from his tailbone to his neck, the shiver in his spine culminating in a reticent sigh and a muffled whimper.

When Penberth withdrew, his eyes were closed and his brows were knit with his resolve. “You are...you are so lovely, Mr. Muir. I should be the happiest man in London to have you as my husband.”

Cyril took a step backwards and Penberth's eyes opened just before the Omega drew an open palm hard across his face, snapping his head to the side with the unexpected blow. Anger erupted in his gut and he could feel frustrated tears at the backs of his eyes. He hissed dangerously, trying not to capture the attentions of anyone who may have been in the garden for a stroll.

“Good god, you're all so _despicable._ ” The blonde had turned his bewildered green eyes back to Cyril, his tongue searching his lip where it bled. “All of you are the _same_ , scenting and kissing Omegas out in gardens as if we're all just _tarts_ you can play with. Your little speech at Hayworth's was just your role as an infatuated man trying to sell me a dog. And here you are, Edwin the _Honorable_ , with an Omega in the gardens like the rest of them. All of you Alphas are the same, just itching to bury your knot in a vulnerable creature who is so far beneath you!”

“What...?”

He growled, his foot stomping into the gravel. “You _heard_ _me_.”

Penberth's eyes narrowed, his lips parting while his brows further knitted in question which only served to further infuriate the little boxer. He shook his head just slightly before it was as if a light suddenly shone in his mind and his eyes grew wide within his mask. He reeled upward in shock and Cyril thought perhaps his words finally sank in. It turned out that he was wrong.

“By god, Muir,” the gentleman whispered. “Can you not _scent?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right in the kisser. And I thought he was being very romantic...


	10. Chapter 10

There was a flicker of genuine fear in Muir's eyes after Edwin had posed the question and for a second, he regretted having ever let it slip out. But so many things started falling into place—how Muir had treated him, how he had spoken to him, how he had not reacted in the slightest to any emotional changes in their pack. He had been entirely unaware of Edwin's status as a Beta and even just the thought of it made his heart drop— _what now?_ He took Muir's hands quickly, holding them with a very gentle grip in case the man wished to slap him again even as his cheek and lip stung from the first.

“Your punishment of me is justified,” he started, his voice pleading, “I see that I have wronged you and for that, I am sorry. My intent in kissing you was not to manipulate you but to impress upon you the intensity of my affections. If such is a crime, I willingly confess and I will accept as many blows you are content to give. But to your other accusation, I cannot admit.” He heaved a sigh. “For I am not what you believe me to be. I am no Alpha and I will swear to my grave that I have never meant to purposely mislead you.”

Muir appeared almost confused, his scent tinged with fear and tension. He shook his head very slightly. “Not an...” He swallowed. “Not an Alpha...”

Edwin couldn't help but give a tiny chuckle. “An exceptionally tall Beta, only. I will understand if you are to reject me upon this discovery. It is common for me...and please, let me express that you are the first Omega I have ever kissed in a garden. I do not make a habit of such. I seem to have become the victim of some...questionable advice.” He felt his cheeks grow warm and he dared a glance around them before he dropped to one knee before the boxer, squeezing Muir's fingers lightly. “Please forgive me, I beg. I know not how to come into your favor and all I wish is to give you the world and more.”

The Omega's lip was trembling, his confusion even more pronounced. “...I...I do not understand. You are a Beta...but you...” He blinked. “You cannot be so infatuated with me...”

“It is not your scent, sweet as it is. There is something about you, Muir. Intangible. Something just on the tip of my tongue. I cannot say it is more or less legitimate than an Alpha's attraction by way of instinct for I know not what it _is_.” He tilted his head, his knee digging into the gravel painfully. “Please believe me when I tell you that I have never intended to hurt you.”

At first, he thought Muir was going to slap him again. The scent of fear was still prominent but he could detect no more anger or frustration. There was a long silence in which Muir's eyes were flitting to the side as if he were piecing together all the signs that he had missed that Edwin was, in fact, a Beta. There must have been plenty of them that he had merely written off in light of the gentleman's height and build. When his eyes met Edwin's again, he blurted his statement in a low tone. “I...I believe you.” His cheeks were still pink as the Beta stood. “I have to admit to you, Penberth, this is hardly the first time I have been kissed. In a garden or elsewhere. I am most certainly not much like your debutantes.”

He snickered. “If you were, I should have no interest in you.”

Muir looked toward the ground. “You must be mad. To have no attraction to my scent...to see me as you do. To know what you know. It is madness to want me for a husband.”

“It is madness to value your spirit?”

Muir shrugged. “I am not easy to be with. It...it is one of the worries that I have about finding a mate. Someone who could...understand me. Who I am. What I have _lost_.”

Edwin squeezed his fingers again. “Your nose?”

“More than that. I am broken in many ways and it is no one's fault but my own.” He closed his eyes. “' _Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.'_ ”

Edwin smiled. “May I have the honor of a waltz with such a sinful Omega?”

Muir was drawn in by his smile and he gave a tiny one of his own, nodding in his agreement while a slight breeze blew the apple blossoms over him and carried away his apprehensive scent. He allowed Edwin to brush the pesky blooms from his soft maple brown hair before he turned to head inside first as not to arouse the suspicion that the two of them had been intimate among the flowers. Edwin followed soon after and found Halwill in the hallway, leaning against the wall with a glass of bourbon in his hand.

The Viscount straightened when he walked in and stopped him to pull a tiny blossom from his hair near his ear. His voice was a low murmur.

“I assume from the way your lip appears, you were unsuccessful in wooing him.”

Edwin sighed. “Actually, I think I made some headway. I will ask you to keep this between us but I feel it is pertinent if you will not cease your meddling.” He whispered close to Halwill's ear. “He cannot scent.”

Halwill gave him a hard glance. “The poor boy. I hope he has not mistaken you...?”

“I have informed him.”

“Pray tell me he did not hold it against you...”

Edwin touched his fingertips to the cut on his lip. “I do not think so. He was most upset by my advance rather than my dynamic. In fact, I do not know if it is true or wishful thinking, but he seemed almost calmed by my confession.”

Halwill pulled a cigar from his pocket, clearly intent on heading out to the path for a smoke. “He is a boxer, Penberth, and a young Omega. He has had no reason to trust any Alpha other than his father. You as well as I saw the scar on his throat in the ring. Do you think an Omega did that to him? A Beta? You are a fool if you do not suspect at least that he has been the victim of an intolerable callousness...of an unendurable violence at the hands of an Alpha...or maybe more than one.” He twirled the cigar in his fingers. “My nose is not the best of us but it is stronger than yours. You could not possibly have detected how many tones of fear lay in him. How much terror he felt at the prospect of marriage.”

“Marriage to an Alpha,” Edwin corrected.

Halwill put the end of the cigar between his teeth and tapped the backs of his fingers on Edwin's chest, speaking around it, “Tread carefully, my friend. Next time, you may not get away with just a split lip.”

As Halwill retreated into the torchlight of the gardens, Edwin was left with the memory of that horrible scar around Muir's neck. The destructive force of an Alpha was not something easily dealt with or easily survived. The mark was clearly a remnant of a trenchant viciousness that Halwill had pointed out was the hallmark of an angered Alpha. It was brutal. It was insufferable. It was haunting.

Edwin simply had to know more. But the road was perilous. Muir's secrets were not simple to win and even as he was a Beta, he was still larger than the little boxer and he was still suspect to the man's suspicions of his true intent.

_At least he has nothing to fear of a knot._

He made his way into the shimmering light of the ballroom and strode nervously to the pack of Omegas, their pastel dresses fluttering about just enough for him to spy Muir's black attire among them. He bowed to the lot, unsure of which of them was which as they all seemed so very similar in their jewels and their colors, their scents mingling and most of their faces obscured by their masks and feathers. A familiar voice cut through to him as Miss Watson chided him.

“Whom do you seek, Mr. Penberth? Our lovable Mr. Muir, perhaps? And if we shoo you away? What is your course?”

“Oh,” Muir chuckled behind her, “Please do not shoo him away, Miss Watson. He means no harm.” The Omega's mouth was turned up with that smile Edwin had only caught a glimpse of in the shadow of the apple tree and to see it in the light was something he could only consider miraculous. His heart felt like it was growing and there was a tightness in him that he could almost not abide. It made him temporarily lose his breath while Miss Watson stared at him with her mouth flat across.

“No harm, you say?” she mused. “I suppose that may depend on your meaning of the word.”

Edwin was able to hold out his hand and he thrilled at the touch of Muir's glove against his own. He couldn't help his wide grin. “From the definition that Miss Watson likely holds, I must have truly terrible intentions.”

“Ah,” Muir said through his smile as he was led out to the floor. “I am certain it is not the first time a man has harbored ill will toward me.”

Edwin swallowed, the image of that scarred collar flashing into his memory. The scents of dozens of Alphas crowding into the dingy basement and the feeling of knowing that they were all staring at Muir with unabashed lust, imagining all the degrading things that they could have done to him if given the chance.

“Even without my nose, I can see your discomfort. What have I said?” Muir was studying him, his slight smile slowly fading.

“It is nothing. I am prone to gather wool at times. I cannot help it.”

Muir's scent was suddenly filled with the tang of anger and his eyes narrowed into hard slits even as he did not miss a step in their dance. “Mr. Penberth, I see we will have to make a deal early on if I am to allow you a courtship of me.” He cleared his throat. “In light of your recent discovery, that I am unable to scent, I propose that if you are serious in your offer of marriage, you may not lie to me. Ever. Even in the smallest of ways.”

Edwin sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and nursed the bit of it that was still swollen. “I see,” he replied. “It is a fair suggestion. I accept. I shall rescind my previous statement and replace it. The wool I was gathering concerned the dubious nature of the men who would have wished you harm in the past. Naught more than animals, I should assume.”

Muir sniffed out a laugh. “If you had seen me no less than three months ago, you would have wrinkled your nose at me. I fight other men like dogs are pitted against each other, spitting blood into dirt. We are _all_ animals, Mr. Penberth. It is just that some of us have suits, cravats, and _titles_.”

“Is it enough to hope that my status as a Beta somehow...endeared me to you? Your animosity toward Alphas...it cannot be coincidence.” He was impatient for an answer and suddenly wished he weren't dancing so as to focus entirely on Muir's words rather than on his footwork as well.

“The revelation has not harmed your cause. It does explain some aspects of your character I found curious.” His cheeks gained an attractive flush below his domino mask. “I regret to inform you that I still cannot answer your proposal. I have many misgivings and they are nothing to do with you, Mr. Penberth. I have plenty to think about...still.” His mouth quirked downward at the edges. “There is another thing that I do not understand.”

“Hmm?”

“Halwill claimed that you do not gamble. As a Beta, you should be naturally conservative with your risks. Yet you, of all of them, were the only man who was bold enough...reckless enough...to place a wager on me.”

“Ah,” Edwin felt his grin widen. “You misremember. Halwill _did_ tell you that I did not gamble but he did not say I do not _place bets_.” He laughed. “I believe I seem to recall that he mentioned that he had never known me to place a bet that I was not sure to win. And Muir...” He leaned forward until his lips could just barely brush against Muir's ear, inciting a slight gasp from the little Omega, “ _I am sure of you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's that Beta charm.


	11. Chapter 11

Cyril knew he was uncharacteristically cheery, or at least _not_ surly, for the next few days which led most of the servants to chatter on about him behind his back. He had wandered into the kitchen several times in order to catch a flying order from the busy chef and follow it until the tasks were done and he was satisfied with the end result. He was certain that the servants didn't know what to do with his presence and he was even more certain that the were completely out of sorts over his softly whistled tunes, and his words which were calm and in some cases, even kind. It was so unlike him not to snap at them that he was sure they knew something was amiss though they were cautious enough not to mention anything within his earshot.

It was too much to hope that his father had not noticed and of course, he was cornered while he was reading, hidden in one of the less-used parlors by the elder Muir who always seemed to have too much fun sneaking up on his nose-blind son. His voice practically made Cyril leap into the air with shock.

“Here you are, Cyril. Hidden away like a hermit. Don't you have a gentleman who could come take you to the park?”

He settled his pounding heart with a palm over his chest. “Father, appearing in public in the park when one is considered a debutante with a man who is not my fiance is hardly something smiled upon by the ton. If you would come with me, I could possibly avoid being eviscerated by the society papers.”

“Nonsense,” the Alpha grunted. “The society papers love you. Not that you would know that, as you do not read them. They are completely enamored by you. For every outing, you are their darling. Although your lack of a chaperone has not gone unnoticed. They forgive you.”

“They forgive me because I have not arrived with a gentleman I am not engaged to.”

His father sighed and walked to the window where he swiped a finger along the sill to inspect for dust in the seldom-used room. When he found none, he turned around. “Then I propose a solution.”

Cyril rolled his eyes.

“Become engaged.”

He groaned, slapping his book shut.

“Do not give me that attitude. I know there is a gentleman who has gotten to you. I can smell it on you. When he looks at you, you feel it. Here.” The Alpha tapped his chest with two fingers and raised his graying brows. “You've been downright _nice_ to the staff. They're all worried about you. They've been whispering about you. They fear that the gentleman will sour if you keep him waiting too long. 'Fickle Omegas,' their words!”

He laughed, tilting his head back and letting it rumble through him until it was sick of him and tapered off, letting him bring his gaze and grin back to the Alpha. He repositioned himself on the couch to sit with his legs crossed, leaned against the back comfortably. “And you? Are you worried for me?”

“Does he mirror your affections?”

“I have no affections.”

The Alpha growled, “Do not try me, Cyril.”

“What did you come to find me for?” he chuckled. “It cannot be merely to convince me of my own emotions. It cannot be to persuade me to take a walk in the sunshine. It cannot even be to order me to become engaged. Those cannot be your reasons. You have more important things to do than to argue with me about my _affections_.” He laughed again.

His father grunted, irritated even as he relented. “Two days ago, you made a very lovely set of raspberry tarts. The cook says she does not know your exact process. I came to ask if you would do your poor elderly father a favor by way of whipping up a batch.”

Cyril threw his head back again, his laugh setting up a residence in his stomach, eventually coming in short bursts of giggles.

“I have not seen you laugh so since...”

He was still smiling, his chuckles petering off. “Since?”

The Alpha's face darkened. “Since. That is all. The tarts?”

“Of course, Father. I will make you however many tarts you desire.” The residual from his laughter was still dancing in his body, threatening him with a gentle tug on his diaphragm.

“Consider what else I have said to you, Cyril. Every bit of it is truth. I want you to be happy. Not every Alpha is a monster. And not every gentleman is an Alpha.”

Those green eyes loomed in his memory and that blonde hair with a stray apple blossom caught near his ear. Penberth's admission had seemed almost painful coming from his lips. As a Beta, he must have been shunned by nearly every Omega, his scent not powerful enough to satisfy their sensitive noses.

_I know not what it is._

What _was_ it that had attracted Penberth to him? He claimed that he had found him irresistible ever since he'd _seen_ him. Such an infatuation for a Beta had to be fairly rare—didn't it? Truthfully, he had never quite thought about what actually placed Betas together with each other rather than the dictates of titled marriages and a social obligation. There was always such a thing as _love_ , he supposed, but he wasn't very certain if he believed in such a thing. He most certainly could not ask an Alpha for the answer and conversely, he could not ask an Omega either—the two of them found “love” through the inherent instinct that drew them to each other almost by force. They were, after all, _made_ for each other. Betas had no such draw—unless something like “love” truly did exist, after all.

“Not an Alpha...” he murmured mostly to himself, his eyes unfocused toward the window. “You are right father, he is not an Alpha.”

“Then marry him, whoever he is. You're guaranteed to be able to walk all over a Beta with your—” His father paused and then eyed him. “It's that Penberth fellow, isn't it? From the way he spoke the other night, he seemed besotted by you. The perfect solution.”

“He is not a solution, Father, he is a man. People are not solutions.”

The Alpha approached him and put the backs of his fingers against Cyril's forehead, frowning. “Feverish, dear Cyril? These are not the words I expect from my son. You must be sick if you have started thinking of peers this way. Or is it just _this one_ who's tickled you?”

He stood up, smiling lightly. “I am not tickled. I believe I should go to the kitchens now if I am to have your raspberry tarts ready for supper. We should talk more about this later, perhaps? Perhaps never.” He began making his way to the door.

“Never!?” The Alpha growled, following him as he walked into the hall. “Am I truly to be the last to know if he makes a proposal to you?”

Cyril rounded on him, stopping him short. “Apparently you are since he already has.”

His father sputtered, caught in his spot in the hallway while Cyril left, snickering the entire way to the kitchen where the servants were half working and half milling about, reading their letters and chattering with each other. When he walked in, their voices got lower and some of them skittered away into the darker corners or out the back door. He set to work almost immediately and was only interrupted when the red haired Alpha chef appeared and eased her head over his shoulder to watch him.

He did not move. “Yes?”

She tilted her head closer to him for a second and he vaguely recognized that she was discreetly scenting him. “You spend a fair amount of time in my kitchen, Omega.”

“My father asked me to make him a batch of tarts.”

“Ah. He did like those. If you were to give me the recipe for them, I could surely make them. You wouldn't have to spend your time working alongside the servants. Or is there another reason you come in here so frequently?” She inched closer until he could feel her against his back.

He could feel that old fear welling inside him and his words caught in his throat while his hands stilled. Fortunately, the scent of it was enough for her and she shuffled backwards.

“I...I suppose not, then,” she mumbled. “No need to become upset, Mr. Muir. I ain't meant nothing by it. If...if you need any help with them tarts, you just call over to Rebecca, she'll be sure to keep an ear out.”

If he had to pick a moment when he had made up his mind, it was that one. As his trembling hands picked up and continued his work, he had made the decision to finally have an unspoken protection, even if it was not as formidable as that of an Alpha—he wanted Penberth's name. Betas were not so fervent about scenting each other, utilizing a set of rings to convey their married status as bondmarks could not be placed without an Alpha. He set his hands flat on the wooden board and stared at the left one. A single gold ring. That's all it would take. Some Alphas would still try to walk over the formality, convinced that Betas could have no ownership over an Omega, but most...most would respect it. For any that did not, he would always be able to draw back and break a nose or two.

_Or stand there trembling like a fool._

His fist banged down on the top of the board, sending already nervous Omegas and Betas scuttling off to avoid him and what he could only assume was a toxic angered scent. He made the rest of the tarts without speaking to any of the staff, his brows tight together and his teeth gritted behind his lips. When he was finished, he requested that Barker ready the coach and he changed his clothes.

His father's London solicitor must have been startled by his appearance but made no note of the unexpectedness of his visit and did not ask any questions as he drew up exactly what Cyril asked him to, making prudent suggestions as they were required. The Omega was pleased with the end result and took it with him as he made yet another unexpected stop—one that was sure to raise eyebrows if it did not go according to his perhaps over-thought plan. He climbed the steps to the Penberth town house with an intense focus and was greeted by the housekeeper and led into the drawing room after giving up his hat and jacket.

Once there, he found his intense resolve start to weaken. A harsh nervousness began to seep into the cracks of his once rock-solid intent and he wondered, for a minute, if he was in the right place. When he looked up to the door to find Penberth staring at him, curiosity flickering in those perfect eyes, he was nearly at a loss and considered claiming to have made a mistake so he could rush out instead of having to...to...

“Good morning, Mr. Muir. Could I interest you in some tea?”

He blurted, “Tea?”

“Yes,” Penberth smiled. “Tea. I suppose that you might be more accustomed to coffee in your mornings? If that is the case, I am certain my staff could round some up for you.”

“No...no...tea would be alright.” He could barely think for the flutter in his heart and his guts. When Penberth's eyes flitted toward the parchment still clutched in his hands, he glanced down and then up, suddenly reminded of his purpose. “Mr. Penberth, I came to...to...”

“Perhaps you should sit, Mr. Muir. I do not have any engagements today so you do not have to stumble over your reasons for having come so quickly. Sit. Enjoy some tea.” Just as he said it, the housekeeper bustled in with the tea tray which was lined also with biscuits and sweet scones.

Cyril sat while Penberth poured him a cup. Tea or coffee, it hardly ever mattered to Cyril since the loss of his ability to smell made it so that neither had much flavor. He leaned forward and sipped it merely out of etiquette before he set it down again, furious that he found his hand shaking as he did so.

“I fair say, it's shaping up to be a fine day,” Penberth mused with a light smile. “I was sure it was going to rain today with how Father was complaining of his old riding injury.”

“Hah!” Cyril barked. “I cannot. I cannot sit here and blather, Penberth. It is not my nature. Please.” He swallowed. “I came to...to accept your proposal.”

To this, the Beta started, surprised not only by the blurted intent but also by the document that the Omega thrust out toward him. He studied it closely, his eyes narrowed as he examined every point and condition while the boxer started having the thought that perhaps he was avoiding a puddle on his way to the gallows. When he was finished, he looked upward to Cyril and cocked one brow. “This is quite specific. I assume you are to allow my own solicitor to draw up a separate document to define our separate estates, though I can assure you, Muir, I have no intention of blocking you from my assets.” He glanced down at the document again. “I certainly had not considered the merits of creating a contract such as...as _this_.”

“I...I must protect myself, Mr. Penberth.”

The Beta scanned through the document again. “Then I shall agree with all of these stipulations.”

“All of them? Even the...”

Penberth laughed, opened the door, and called in the housekeeper who scuttled in as if she had been waiting near the door the whole time. The Beta moved to the small writing desk to the edge of the room and carefully dipped a pen into the inkwell and blotted it before he scrawled his name at the bottom with the housekeeper as his witness. As he waited for the ink to dry, he grinned over toward Cyril, his smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “I do not care to hold you down, Cyril, literally or figuratively. It simply will never happen. You are free to travel where your heart desires, I only ask that if such a thing is possible, I am able to follow you. You may pursue any venture you wish, save that it is another man.” He frowned. “Or woman.”

The Omega nodded while the servant gave a demure curtsy and then left, having done her duty. They were left alone together again and he watched while Penberth left the document on the desk and strode over to him where he sat on the couch, dipping to one knee and taking Cyril's trembling hand.

“I will do whatever you wish, Muir. Signing a contract that forbids such things as beating you, raping you, or holding you down, no matter the floral language used within to describe it—it is easy. I have but one promise to you that I should uphold beyond all. If I am failing in any manner, I do not need a contract to remind me that I have.” He kissed the backs of Cyril's fingers. “I should surely know from the sting of your hand.”

His voice was nearly caught in his throat. “What is...what is your promise?”

The Beta mentioned it casually, as if it were entirely obvious.

“Only to love you. No less and ever more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No cliffhanger this time either? What's gotten into me?
> 
> Edwin must have been secretly horrified by whatever was in that marriage contract. _"Good god, what does he think I'm going to do to him!?"_


	12. Chapter 12

It was a June wedding and as much as Edwin had tried for months to make every accommodation for Muir, the Omega still, even on the lawn as he was being married, held an air of cool, passive acceptance. As if the marriage, to some extent, was nothing more than a business transaction. His scent often betrayed him, the warm honey glaze altered into a sugar sweetness when Edwin was close but his demeanor otherwise was nearly disturbing in its placidity. He did not smell or appear nervous in the slightest when he took Edwin's hands and consented to their marriage before witnesses on that warm Saturday morning. He should not have been, after all, since they had painstakingly discussed every role (or lack thereof) that Edwin could possibly play in the ownership and management of the Muir hotel empire. Every “t” was crossed, every “i” dotted, and Edwin could not think of a single thing that Cyril should have been anxious about.

_Well. It would not do to lie to oneself so early on._

He sipped his champagne from a thin glass flute while he watched rain start to fall over Belcourt's rolling verdant lawn through the glass panes of the french doors, the slight breeze combed through the small apple trees that lined the pond where two large white swans frolicked together, enjoying the precipitation. He put his other hand in his pocket and his eyes started to come unfocused.

He had put himself into such a strange union and all for what? Love? That was what it was. At first, he hadn't been sure of it but now he was convinced. He'd somehow gotten tangled up in his need to make things better for Muir because of this strange, intangible and unfettered emotion that was untied to any instinct. He often lay awake at night, staring at nothing but with the repetition of some kind of angry resolve that he would do _anything_ for his Omega. Their primary residence was to be his father's neighboring estate, a regal and sprawling manor affectionately named Hollyvale and he was eager to share it with his new husband before business drew them away. It was a house that Edwin was itching to renovate and begin work with the tenants, the estate manager there a good man but positively ancient, his methods antiquated and ineffective. He was certain that with all the experience Muir had with his father, he would have quite a few ideas for how to turn a profit from the old estate.

A small presence beside him made him turn his head, his sight coming back into focus to find his tiny cousin next to him, his gray eyes shining and his sweet Omega scent perfectly content while mingled with that of his Alpha, the tamed lion—the Duke of Asterly. Sometimes he forgot how small Hollow was and he marveled often at how he had ever entertained the idea that the little one could have ever remained a Beta.

“Congratulations, Edwin,” his cousin said brightly. “He is very handsome.”

He grinned. “That he is. I suppose that is the word for him. He's not so much pretty, is he? Not like you.” He tipped a finger under Hollow's chin and then tapped his little lightly freckled nose. “I trust your pup is doing well?”

“I swear our seamstress is making bigger clothes for him every day, he grows so quickly.” Hollow chuckled. “I suspect you should not be waiting very much longer to have pups of your own. Your husband seems quite besotted by you, if I do say so.”

“How is that?” he asked, arching a brow.

“He's spent the last hour fumbling over how to explain to everyone how you two fell in together. Obviously it was more than just your honorable spirit that made him tumble into the graces of the future Baron of Belcourt. I hardly believe it was simply your dancing skills.”

Edwin scoffed. “Of course not. One day I will tell you the whole story but only when I have the pleasure of Asterly's company so he can be properly shocked by me.”

“Shocked?” Hollow asked incredulously.

“Yes, my dearest cousin. Shocked.”

As if summoned, Asterly's low rumbling tone cut through Edwin's head in a way that only an Alpha's voice could. He was doing it on purpose, of course, he thought sourly.

“What is it that I should be shocked by? Certainly nothing to do with the man of the hour? Or the _men_ of the hour, as it is?” The Duke laughed, flanking Edwin on his other side and casting him a sidelong glance that had to be tilted slightly downward due to Asterly's honestly intimidating size, even for an Alpha.

Hollow's light and unobtrusive voice came from his other side. “Edwin is perfectly convinced you should be shocked by how he and our American friend fell in love.”

Asterly rolled his eyes. “I'm sure I would shocked by how any Beta falls in love.”

Edwin sulked, drooping his shoulders downward and frowning out the window from the Alpha's teasing. Asterly had always been a rather _abrasive_ character and Edwin couldn't say he was particularly relieved to know that he'd remained constant in wedlock. Halwill had studiously avoided him for the morning, preferring to stay far to the other side of the room from wherever Asterly was standing.

“Morgan, do not be rude,” Hollow rebuked.

The Alpha sighed. “Very well. How then did you manage to fall in _love_ with your husband, Penberth?”

He took in a breath to answer but was interrupted by the bold tone of Muir behind him and they all turned to face him where he stood holding his champagne with a cool passive expression, his shoulders squared and rigid.

“I might be wrong in this but I'm almost certain it was when he won a few thousand pounds on a wager after I broke a man's nose in an underground boxing competition. Understand, that is merely a guess. I cannot be sure.”

“I say,” Asterly mused, giving Edwin an appreciative stare. “Never knew you had it in you to even walk into such a place much less place a bet.” He turned his eyes to Muir again. “You must be quite the Omega to incite such a response in a passive and upstanding Beta like Penberth.” He winked. “Perhaps all he ever needed was a bit of a bad influence, after all.”

For what seemed like the first time all day, Muir cracked a grin and looked down while he chuckled, a light flush forming over his cheeks. “I suppose it is now, after we are wed, that I should admit that I am, indeed, a terrible influence.”

Edwin scoffed. “As if I did not already know.”

He was left alone with his Omega and without asking, he reached back and unlatched one of the french doors, holding it open while Muir stepped outside onto the dry section of the terrace that was protected from the rain by the balcony of the second floor. The air was warm and wet but the breeze was pleasant, bringing Edwin the sweet scent of the rain that reminded him that Muir missed all those small moments of pleasure that came from the tiny parts of _life_ that his nose could have provided. His bit of sorrow was unnoticed by his new husband for the same reason and it made him all the more remorseful.

When the door was closed, Muir passed him a glance. “The rain was kind to wait.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “They say it is good fortune for rain on a wedding day. Aside from that, the swans are enjoying it.”

“They are quite beautiful.”

Edwin smiled. “They mate for life, you know.”

“Do they?”

He made a soft hum. “These two are a bit of an odd couple. Pascal was a sort of violent rascal. He was a cygnet from the last pair father had and every mate we gave him, he would either chase off or...” He grimaced. “Or he would _murder_.”

Muir chuckled. “Vicious little brute.”

“Father eventually took my advice and we gave him Gilbert. I had often pondered what he might do if we procured a larger, stronger mate. Here they are, years later and inseparable. Father thought me insane when I told him to find a larger swan, as they were all male, of course.” He shrugged one shoulder. “At least Gil didn't _eat_ the poor bastard.”

Muir was smiling and there was a calm contentment in his scent as the soft wet breeze carried it to Edwin's nose. That soft puffy spot on his lip where his thin white scar melted into pink taunted the Beta with how wonderfully perfect it was despite its inherent nature as a deformity. It had pressed against Edwin's lips for only two fleeting moments—the garden and the alter, and now it was so damnably close and yet so _far_. He felt useless standing next to his Omega being unable to break through this invisible barrier that kept him from leaning over and simply capturing his mouth with his own—to create a guideline for a partnership that could rival Gil and Pascal's.

The weight of the contract he had signed was a constant companion in the back of his brain, reminding him that there was still so much about Muir that was a complete and utter mystery. They had not had any significant time alone during their engagement wherein he could have delved deeper into the secrets that were only hinted upon by the requirement of the contract and the fact was itching at him—he would alone with Muir _tonight_. The Alphas were sharing secret grins with him throughout the reception no doubt in reference to the presumed actions that would occur in the privacy of their bridal suite but Edwin couldn't focus past the prospect of finally getting an uninterrupted night alone with the boxer, not for any physical reason—although he could not deny that he was excited for the idea—but for the sake of at last holding a meaningful discussion. A marriage contract wasn't something that was entirely uncommon but Edwin had not ever heard of one that included such... _explicit_ direction. It was not an issue he was comfortable discussing with any of the Alphas and, in fact, seemed only appropriate to bring up to Muir himself...he would have to wait until they were alone. His curiosity was overflowing.

He reached smoothly downward and tickled his fingers over Muir's gloved palm until he could lace their fingers together, his heart skipping when the hazel-eyed Omega squeezed his hand in response, his scent warm and honeyed with contentment. Edwin couldn't tell if he was shocked at all at the concept of the often pugnacious man being _content_ in a marriage—any marriage.

“Are you happy, Muir?”

“Cyril,” the Omega smiled. “If that is acceptable.”

“Then I should prefer that you call me Edwin. Or any other endearment that you can conjure.”

“I have no complaints. We have been married but a few hours.” His grin was devious. “Perhaps such an inquiry should be posed after you have had sufficient time to have upset me.”

“I am still of the hope that if I were to upset you, I should know immediately.”

“I will be certain to take care not to break anything I should be keeping intact.”

“Would you like a drink?” Edwin asked.

Cyril shook his head slightly, still staring toward the swans. “No. Please. It is quiet out here with you. I would like to stay just for a little longer away from the noise. From my father, I should amend. He is quite enamored with the entire affair and he will not quit his telling me that he is proud of my decision. He's also told me how much he's impressed by the Baron—it is an odd day when he meets another Alpha that he likes so much.”

“Shall we call the man back to the alter for them?”

Cyril laughed, the sound putting a fresh flutter of butterflies into Edwin's gut.

He murmured lovingly, leaning to brush his nose against the maple of the Omega's hair. “I am slain by your laughter. I should live to hear it every day I am lucky enough to wake.”

Cyril's cheeks reddened. “I am going to have to get used to hearing such embarrassing things, aren't I? I am not used to compliments on much like my...my laugh. I have heard the reactions to my blows, to my boxing, to my strength, but when you say things about my...”

“Handsome face?” Edwin supplied. “Charming smile? Breathtaking laughter? Beautiful eyes?”

Cyril gave him a tiny nudge with his shoulder. “Stop it, you beast. Flattery is wasted on me.”

Edwin chuckled. “Oh, somehow I have my doubts.”

The Omega kept him outside for a decent amount of time, enjoying the rain and the breeze until it became just a little too damp under the balcony and Cyril led him back inside and they wove through the crowd with their brandy and their hands linked as much as possible. Edwin was atingle with his excitement at Cyril's allowance of the guests to see their obvious connection and affection, the Omega's clear insistence at holding his husband's hand a great boost to his confidence at how the evening would turn out.

It was only around one o'clock in the morning when many of the guests had retired to their rooms and Edwin was feeling the haze of the numerous glasses of liquor he'd consumed. It seemed only natural that the two of them, chided by good-natured Alphas, made their way up to their suite together, their fingers still intertwined and the giggling sweet-scented Omega leaning lightly against him every so often. There was not a shred of nervousness in Cyril's scent, only a tempered giddiness that Edwin was sure he could have mirrored if not surpassed.

On the other side of the bedroom door, he was met with warmth from the fire in the hearth and the glittering of several candles as well as the lamps. His haze was diluted a bit from the sight of the rich counterpane and the hanging silk brocade that was hung over the large four poster bed. His throat became a bit dry and there was an unbearable pause in which Cyril's head pressed lightly against Edwin's upper arm.

“I suppose...” he muttered, “Perhaps a nap...”

“A _nap_?” Cyril giggled, pushing away from the Beta and tugging at his cravat until it fell to one of the chairs near the fireplace. His sweet scent became stronger as he began to disrobe, pulling off his waistcoat and his shirt, letting them drop to the floor in a puddle of linen and silk, leaving his flesh shining in the warm light, the dip of his spine in the small of his back putting a hard lump in Edwin's throat that was difficult to swallow around. He leaned down and unlaced his shoes, taking them off along with his socks before he pounced upon the bed and flopped down on the counterpane with his arms out wide, the bed large enough that neither of his fingertips could reach the edges.

When Edwin approached the bed, he allowed his gaze to sweep over the exposed skin of Cyril's belly and chest, the swoop of his collarbones and the finely defined muscles of his biceps. His gaze was suddenly fixed hard on the dark collar-like scar that encircled the soft, inviting flesh of the Omega's throat.

“Well?” Cyril asked, grinning up from the bed. “Are you going to stand there like some kind of dope?”

Edwin cleared his throat and his fingers fanned at his sides. “I ehm. I am not quite certain about my course of action. You're fair filling up the whole of the bed and I am a rather large fellow, if you haven't noticed...”

Cyril pushed his head back into the counterpane with the force of his laughter. “I swear to God, Edwin Penberth, you have got to be the most intriguing creature I've ever come across in my travels and _that_ is a strange notion. You still have your _clothes_ on, sir.”

“Do you intend me to be naked whilst you keep your trousers on?”

“Do you not intend to divest me of them?” Cyril asked, propping himself up on his elbows with his broken brow raised suggestively, the curl of his lip a challenge that Edwin was keen to match.

He stripped off everything but his own trousers but still could not bring himself up onto the bed while Cyril stared at him. He wished beyond anything that Cyril could somehow scent his apprehension—his fear. Without any other recourse, he blurted awkwardly, “I apologize for my stalling...it is simply that I am...undecided of my course.”

“Undecided of...” Cyril shook his head, chuckling. “It is our wedding night, Edwin, should you not be _seducing_ me?”

He frowned. “Well, that is just the thing, Cyril. I have never seduced anyone before. I am hardly equipped. Even as an Alpha, I should be entirely at a loss with your nose the way it is and I am terribly lacking in... _experience_ in such matters.”

Cyril sat up suddenly, his eyes wide and a sharp gasp in his breath. “Good God, man. You're not serious.”

“Quite,” Edwin explained.

“Edwin the Honorable indeed. I didn't think it was possible to find a virgin among the gentlemen of the ton and yet here you are, a near mythical creature and my _husband_ of all people.” Sorrow tinged his scent. “And here I am...before you...and you are so good...” His face fell. “And I am so...not.” Cyril's fingers grazed up his own chest and collarbones until he was just barely touching that horrible mark on his neck and Edwin was incited to movement, pressing his knee down onto the bed and reaching out to take the Omega's hand.

“Please,” Edwin murmured, bringing those offending fingers to his lips to kiss them. “If you had not lived what you have, you mightn't have ever come to London when you did and I, selfishly, would have been denied your allure and denied... _you_ as my husband.” He hated how horribly self-centered it all sounded but from the way Cyril's scent seemed to even out, he thought he could have been successful. “I do hope that one day you shall share with me your struggles, so that you may not have to live with them alone.”

Cyril did not reply but with his free hand reached upwards and curled his warm fingers around the back of Edwin's neck, pulling him forward and pressing their mouths together, the Omega coaxing him into submission in a blatant attempt to avoid a discussion of his past. It would, no doubt, be successful as Edwin could not deny such an advance even if he had wanted to. A honey-scented, half-nude man was kissing him, that vexing scar on Cyril's lip rubbing and pushing against his his own, teasing his nearly addled mind with the threat of further intimacy. Tingling pleasures were invading his nerves in every place he touched his husband, his hand and his lips, shooting licks of flaming pleasure through his body. When the Omega's tongue enticed Edwin to open his mouth, delving into him with each delicate touch and movement, he felt himself tighten, his blood rushing hard south.

As lovely as it all seemed to be going, Edwin impulsively placed his free hand on Cyril's hip, his thumb dipping inadvertently downward before he froze suddenly and broke the luxurious contact between their mouths while the harsh scent of _fear_ began to fill his nose.

“Cyril?”

Wide hazel eyes stared back at him as the Omega's pupils dilated and his entire being stiffened—a typical Omega prey response when backed into a corner. Edwin knew enough that such would never have been a useful defense against an Alpha, but it was very much so with him. Both of his hands rubbed over Cyril's shoulders and his voice was a careful murmur.

“You're alright, little one. I have no wish to frighten you.” Unable to rouse Cyril from his stupor, Edwin swallowed, cursing every bit of his selfish impulse while he tugged the counterpane downward until he had freed it from the boxer's weight, leaving the two of them upon the silk sheets. He arranged himself beside his husband and draped them both in the covers, gently pleading Cyril to lie down with his head on the pillows, that sour note of fear still burning in the Beta's nose. He turned to his side, laying a hand under his head and whispering. “You are so loved, Cyril Muir Penberth, future Baron of Belcourt. You are so handsome, so loved, and so _strong_.”

He watched a single tear form and escape from the corner of his Omega's eye, shining in the firelight. Cyril's voice was choked and strained, forming an empty chasm in Edwin's heart.

“I thought we made a deal, Penberth.” He gasped in a gentle sob. “That you should never lie to me...even about the smallest of things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any mistakes you find in the last 1000 words or so, it's because I was _trashed_ drinking margaritas with my parents while I was writing it. If you point them out, I will fix them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter is pretty much a retelling of a gruesome sexual assault. Take care of yourselves.

He could feel Edwin's warmth beside him and for the second time, he wished that he could have buried his nose deep against the side of his neck just for a the smallest of hints as to what the man could have been thinking—feeling. He cursed the blindness of his sense and chanced a quick side-long glance toward the man he had only hours before pledged his life to. If he could only have his smell back—if he could only form that association of calmness and serenity with his mate's scent, this couldn't continue...but he had no reassurance now. The barest touch of Edwin's hand on his hip had sent his mind sprawling back into that hopeless oblivion of memory, his throat seizing with the sensation of breathlessness that haunted his dreams and became a waking nightmare. It was fear. Terror, actually, he thought. His conscious mind made the clear distinction between Edwin and _Alpha,_ drawing that line easily with a thick inky slash but he was betrayed in the moment by the underlying notion of the Beta's _size_ and his unknowable intent. Cyril was helpless against his reaction and ever-more guilty because of it.

Edwin eased forward, the tip of his nose tickling against Cyril's temple with affection. “I cannot lie to you, my love. I wouldn't dream of it. You are more than you believe. More than you know. There is not a force on Earth which could tame you.”

He could barely form words as more tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, leaving cold trails in their wake. “What...what is the worst thing that's ever happened to you?”

Edwin sighed and inched back, his answer in a gentle murmur. “I turned twenty-two.”

Cyril slowly turned his head, finding Edwin staring at him with compassionate eyes.

“My father avoided me so that I wouldn't know how ashamed he was that I hadn't presented as an Alpha...he didn't speak to me for months. My mother had not lived through my birth so when I had grown in the way that I had, my father had been very excited...I looked so much like an Alpha that it had been considered merely a matter of time.” He looked down at the sheet between he and Cyril, tugging lightly at a wrinkle with his fingers. “It was not. He was quite distraught for a long while and I...I felt very...responsible. We had been so close and I had felt like I had suddenly lost him. I knew not when he would come back to me. It was a difficult year.”

“And if you had presented as an Omega?”

Edwin chuckled, his fingers that had been tugging at the sheets moving to gently caress Cyril's cheek. “With my height? I should say I would have scared away every man in London. I must admit, I do not know how my father would have reacted. Eventually, I determined that nothing had changed. That I would take the title and run everything like he had planned. There was no reason why I shouldn't be able to and my management of the estate had reinforced its prosperity. He no longer had any doubt in my ability to hold his title and continue his line. I think sometimes he is still sour about my status but fate is often a fickle mistress, or so they say.”

Cyril nodded slowly, waging an internal battle that pitched back and forth over and over in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he pushed down his emotions, the black roiling mass of sorrow, pain, fear, and regret squeezing down into the locked metal box that was placed in a safe corner of his heart. He pushed hard, forcing it away, tight and straining against its prison. His voice sounded much more controlled to his own ears and it soothed him.

“It seems we are both fortunate to have understanding fathers. Even if they had misgivings about us in the past.”

The blonde smiled.

“I didn't bother to hide my boxing from my father. Everyone thought Omegas were weak...and I was tired of believing them. When I was sixteen, a man took me from the tavern into the basement and I watched the Omegas box and I saw how the Alphas boasted over them and admired them and talked about them as if they were more than just pretty faces. They talked of their strength, their speed, their _power_. I wanted that.” He swallowed, the box in his heart hardly big enough for what he'd hidden inside it. He heard his voice crack. “I wuh-won. I kept winning. I lost a few times but most of the time, I won.” He sniffed, his resolve slowly wearing away, as if all the acidic pain inside him couldn't be held. “I wasn't managed by any Alphas. I managed myself to prove that I was better...I was stronger. I was better. No. I was _the best._ ”

His voice failed him and he closed his eyes, turning his body to face Edwin, reaching his hand up to grasp the Beta's hand in both of his, squeezing and seeking reassurance in the answering one.

“I...” He struggled and tried again. “I won so often that it was difficult for the bookies to spin the odds...I could draw a crowd but I couldn't make them any money. They wanted me to throw a match...on purpose. They told me that I didn't have a choice. That they would put me down if I didn't. They even promised me a cut of their winnings but it didn't mean anything to me. Money was never a concern for me—how could it work as a bribe?” He felt something that was equal parts laugh and sob escape him. “I didn't care about their odds. All I wanted to do was win. If I could still do that—why wouldn't I? I was so _stupid._ ” There was no box in him anymore. The cloud reined free and as he spoke, he tasted the bitterness in his mouth. “I won that match. I won it in the first goddamned round. They scream at them, every time, they _scream_ it...' _stay away from his left.'_ ”

He pulled Edwin's hand to his bare chest, resting the back of the Beta's knuckles against his heart.

“A few days later, they put a sack over my head while I was smoking outside a gallery. My father, of course, noticed I was missing and called the constables but by then...” Cyril pulled in a shuddering breath.

Edwin whispered while a tear tickled over the bridge of Cyril's nose.

“It's alright, love. You're alright. I'm here.”

He whispered back, unable to open his eyes. “I don't want to be weak. I am stronger than this.”

“Tears are not weak, Cyril. You are not made of glass and you cannot shatter.”

There was a hot, unfocused fury that was boiling inside him. “They _choked me_ , Edwin.” A hard sob rocked him. “They put a cord around my neck and choked me until they...until I...I fell into a _stress heat_.” The Omega melted into a bout of silent weeping, pulling Edwin's hand to his head as he lowered it, pressing the Beta's palm against his forehead. It was the only contact he could bear and he needed it desperately. When he could speak again, it was through gritted teeth and a heavy rage. “You say I am not fragile. That I cannot _shatter._ I will tell you now, Beta. You can break a man so many ways...but an Omega: there is one sure course to destroy them.”

He fell into a silence while Edwin's fingers tightened against his scalp, the blonde gentleman probably piecing together every shred of their marriage contract, the puzzle fitting perfectly together. His ruination. His destruction. His _shattering._

They lay together for a long time until Cyril pulled Edwin's hand from his head and pressed the Beta's knuckles against his mouth, finally able to open his blurry eyes. He breathed against his husband's hand as he murmured.

“I knew I was going to die. They told me. Over and over and over. So when they tightened the cord and everything faded, I needed to prove something to myself. I was so angry, Edwin. I was furious. I was so filled with rage. But death humors no man...and the boy I owe my life to was a boxer who'd waited for them to leave...who pulled the rope from my neck and breathed into my body until I gasped into life again.” He sniffed. “He pulled me from those bloody sheets and brought me to my father. I remember him so clearly...his kindness and his promise to me that he should disappear. That he should go back to his family in the country. I will remember him for the rest of my life and I pray to the heavens every night that he is alive and happy. He had been my last fight...the one I hadn't thrown.”

The Beta breathed, adjusting his position to become more comfortable. “Would you like to see him again one day?”

“I'm afraid of what I will find.”

“Perhaps that is why you should be looking.”

He met that tenderhearted green stare and felt his mouth tug upward at the sides even as he felt tears escape him for no discernible reason at all. “I must double my statement, Penberth.”

“Which one is that?” Edwin murmured.

“That you are the most intriguing creature I have ever come across. I have never met a man quite like you. Alpha, Beta, Omega...you are just...Edwin. A man with stars in his eyes.”

“May I hold you, my Omega?”

Something bloomed through the black. It shined and fanned in his chest—a soft warmth that was comforting and, most importantly, _familiar_. He did not hesitate and moved himself forward into the protective circle of his Beta's arms that held him tight. Cyril held on with all his might, taking every moment as it came and memorizing everything he could about this closeness and this _reality_. He could not memorize his mate's scent. He could not make the connection between the Beta's uniqueness and soothing—but he could _feel_. It would have to be enough. He wanted to know this warmth, to _seek_ it. Exhausted from his emotion, he felt himself slipping as he rested his head on Edwin's arm, still basking in that organic warmth while his husband placed gentle kisses into his hair and whispered words he could not distinguish through the weight of his sleep.

* * *

There was never true pain in dreams. There was only the knowledge that there was hurt and that he was afraid, and that he was going to _die._ The sheets were dirty. He was in a basement room and the sheets were _dirty_ , smudged with old blood and dust from the bottom of the ring. There was a weight—a hand—on the back of his head, gripping into his hair. An intense and focused pressure was cutting into his windpipe and he was going to _die_. He was going to die with his mouth open, his tongue lolling uselessly while drool streamed from his lips. He was going to die gagging and choking, clawing at his throat with a knotted cock rutting into his bleeding ass. He was going to die humiliated. _Shattered._

There was a vague sense of wrongness somewhere. A warmth that seeped into the edges from the sides and a voice he thought he recognized. Even while he gagged and struggled for breath, he felt a hideous shame come over him.

_No. Go away. You can't see me like this. It's not fair._

He faded slowly into consciousness, his throat still closed and precious air stuck so close to the brink. He pulled desperately just for that chance of one single sip of breath. The touch of fingers in his hair was no longer hard and gripping but gentle and loving. There was another hand on his back, rubbing up and down in soothing strokes while murmured words were lost to the buzzing in his ears, to the sound of his own struggle for life. His body trembled and shuddered, finally allowing those treasured sips into his lungs, satisfying the burning need that consumed him. He pulled them in in quick succession while he reached out, pulling himself close against that human heat and solace.

_Edwin. Edwin. Just Edwin. My Edwin._

Relief crashed through him as an ocean wave, hitting him hard and pushing him physically forward, his face instinctively turning to the Beta's throat, pulling in those short labored breaths through his nose as if he was somehow going to be able to gain relief by the act. His shoulders and back heaved against the Beta's hold while he rasped and came back to the waking world with every moment. When he could finally breathe fully and completely, he lay with his face in Edwin's neck simply for the consolation he thought he needed. Perhaps Edwin was thinking he had gotten into something he was not expecting—that Cyril was more damaged than he had previously thought. Perhaps he was thinking he'd been tricked.

The Beta's deep murmur startled him and put goosebumps over his flesh.

“You're alright, now. You're fine, little Omega. _I'm here_.”

He was unused to feeling grateful but it was the only emotion that made sense so he let it flower and spread in the wake of that crashing wave as it receded back into the ocean. Edwin was _here_. He was holding on and he was not afraid and he had promised _love_. He buried his fingers in the Beta's hair to feel him, to make certain he was real.

“Edwin,” he gasped.

“I'm here, my love. I'm here.”

He almost allowed an apology to slip out of his mouth but he gritted his teeth against it. He knew what Edwin would say to such a thing. There was no need. So he quieted and kept himself still, valuing every breath until he could doze again, light finger-touches trailing over his spine while he lost himself again to the warmth. Mercifully, he did not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Cyril this chapter for being such a fucking pain in the ass to write.


	14. Chapter 14

From the moment he'd woken to the sound of Cyril choking and growling in his sleep, Edwin had not slept. He held the small boxer tight against him, mindlessly stroking his fingers up and down the dip and rise of his spine while he stared unseeing toward the window as light slowly filled the sky. The sound of his name in Cyril's gasp after he'd regained his ability to breathe had put a hole in him—wide and gaping, it was practically unbearable and caused mostly by the fact that he, himself, had never had such a dream. A dream that stole something from him and forced him to relive a moment in his life that had broken him so completely. Everything had been so blessedly fleeting. Even his falling out with his father had not _haunted_ him the way Cyril's past seemed to follow him even in the haven of sleep. It was not just his scars. It was not just his memory. It was an infestation of his mind.

It was truly the worst thing that had ever happened to Cyril Muir and there was nothing that Edwin Penberth, Beta or not, was going to be able to do about it. He felt helpless and for the moment, he was thankful that the Omega could not smell—he could never admit such a thing. Even with the promise that he could not lie, he could _never_ admit to feeling helpless. He would brave the storm much like the boxer did. He would help fight it in any way he could. It was too much to promise that he would never let Cyril be hurt again—it was not practical. But he could not shake the notion that had plagued him constantly since he'd watched his Omega win in the ring. He would do _anything_ for Cyril. His resolve could never be weakened.

The sun was fully above the horizon before Cyril stirred again, coming awake with a pleasant set of mewls, his arm stretching over Edwin's ribs before becoming almost boneless, draping over him while those shining hazel eyes fluttered open, the haze of his sleep rising like mist over a dewy morning field. He retreated in order to look at Edwin properly.

“Ah. As I thought,” he sighed.

“What is this?” Edwin asked, allowing himself to smile.

Cyril shrugged. “I had thought to myself that you would be just as handsome in the morning as you are in the evening. I suppose you should be glad to know that I was correct in the assumption.”

Edwin hooked his forefinger and ran the back of it down Cyril's nose and then his lips and his chin. “I suppose I should not ask how you slept. I am afraid I know.”

The Omega's scent was muddled and his lips pressed together.

“Does it happen often?”

“Often enough,” Cyril whispered. “If you wish to have separate—”

“No,” Edwin snipped. “Absolutely not. I will not hear of it. I will not be separated from you while you sleep. Not _ever_.”

There was calmness in his scent again and Edwin rubbed the pad of his thumb over Cyril's most inviting scar.

“Are you feeling playful, my Omega?”

“Playful?”

Edwin let his smile widen. “A game, of sorts, if you are willing.”

His brows twitched. “Forgive me if I am wary.”

“Ah,” the Beta chuckled. “Fear not for you shall have all the power.” He took his thumb from Cyril's cheek and ran his fingers over one sloped collarbone before he teased downward and tentatively brushed over one impossibly soft pink nipple, drawing a sharp breath from his husband's beautiful lips. “This is the last I touch you, if you wish.”

“What do you mean?” Cyril groaned while Edwin softly pinched the hardening peak.

“I wish to pleasure you, but I am unsure of how I shall do so without harming you. I will await your direction and do only what you ask me to do—it must come from your own words, Omega. I will do nothing elsewise.”

Cyril turned a few shades of pink and red before he sputtered out his response. “I-I c-cannot puh-possib...possibly! I cannot _say_ these... How could you... I d-don't think...”

He laughed. “It is quite simple, little one, just tell me what you have done in the past and I will do it best I can. That is all. I am unsure of where to start and you are suited to inform me. Have you not taken lovers before?”

The Omega was still staring at him with reddened cheeks and wide, stunned eyes. “Well...yes. Most of them were...were _women_ but...”

“But?”

“I have...I have...with...another boxer or two...” He cleared his throat. “I have never been with a _Beta_ before.”

“Do you want me to pleasure you?”

Cyril bit his bottom lip and shyly gave a slight nod, his eyes flitting down. If he had not already been flushed, Edwin was certain that the question would have done it all over again.

“I must hear it from your mouth, little one.”

“Yes...I...I want it.”

He kept his face and tone passive, giving no hint to the amused and excited flutter in his heart. “Then you can tell me what you and the other boxers did and I will try my hand. If at any time it becomes uncomfortable for you, you must tell me and I will try something different. Is that acceptable?”

The Omega considered his proposal, his scent holding a tone of anxiety along with something Edwin could only guess was a palpable arousal. He wasn't sure he would have been able to accurately gauge what an Omega's arousal smelled like but it seemed that the sweetness in Cyril's normal scent had been diluted with something of a musky, organic tone that betrayed him...that was unlike anything Edwin had ever smelled before.

Cyril whispered to him even as his cheeks burned. “That is acceptable.” Despite his admission, his reluctance was still apparent in his mannerisms and he pulled in his lip, his eyes refusing to meet Edwin's. The Beta decided that his best course was to wait and, eventually, the tactic bore fruit. Cyril's voice was almost a whisper. “Sometimes...” he shifted. “We would...with our...mouth...”

Edwin whispered back to him. “Do you want me to put my mouth on you?” He could feel his body tightening as he imagined himself pressing soft kisses down Cyril's body.

The Omega nodded but then seemed to catch himself. “Yuh-yes?”

That rapturous fluttering in his heart nearly exploded and he felt it all the way into his throat when he leaned forward and began his journey with a tender, sweet kiss that paid special attention to that tantalizing scar that graced his fantasies. When his mate responded with eagerness, sucking delicately on his bottom lip, Edwin thought he could have fainted from his overwhelming delight. He moved downward slowly, placing open-mouthed kisses over Cyril's lower lip, his chin, three on his neck, taking a moment or two to pull in that musky sweet honey before he eased himself below the covers to trail his mouth through the hollow between the Omega's collarbones. As he took the time to nibble and kiss his way downward, he noted the hammer of Cyril's heart and the slight tremble to his breaths that did not come from fear but from something else entirely. Something that made Edwin's mouth twist into a smug little grin as he continued his kisses, dipping his tongue into his husband's navel while he unfastened the front of Cyril's trousers, careful not to touch his hips, tugging them down by the fabric around his knees instead, allowing the two of them to shift until he'd rendered his mate nude under the sheets.

“Edwin,” he heard Cyril murmur while the Omega's gentle fingers combed through his hair.

In the dark, he trailed his fingers upward along Cyril's inner thighs, reveling in the way his mate responded by parting them even as he still lay on his side, urging the Beta with an unspoken invitation. It was a request that Edwin would have been a fool to refuse and he moved forward with only the slightest of trepidation. He had never done anything like this in his life and although he had a general idea of what he would like to do, he was unsure of how exactly he was to go about doing it.

 _Don't be a ninny,_ he scolded himself. He took Cyril into his hand and nearly winced when the boxer's fingers gripped his hair hard and there came a very audible yelp from above him.

“Alright, Cyril?” he asked, placing a soft wet kiss to the thin, sensitive flesh of his mate's inner thigh.

“Yuh-yes! Uhn, yes.”

“Lovely,” he whispered before he took the Omega between his lips, careful not to flinch overly at the way his hair was pulled along with the stuttering cries that managed to find their way from Cyril's throat. He explored his options, careful not to touch any bit of his partner with his teeth while he worked his lips and tongue down and up, taking a few moments to focus his attentions in certain places before he did his best to fit the whole of it inside his mouth. Cyril's cries became elated mewls, his fingers grasping and kneading pleasantly through Edwin's hair while he wordlessly urged him to continue. He followed obediently when Cyril moved to lay on his back, arching his knees and tenting the covers while Edwin's head bobbed between his thighs, his mate's huffing breaths and abandoned pleasured whimpers music to his ears.

The Omega's voice was trembled and of a bit higher pitch when he breathily moaned. “Ed-Edwin! I can't...I...I'm going to...”

He wanted to pretend that he'd been prepared but along with Cyril's sharp cry was the spurt of his seed that took him by surprise. He backed off and coughed, finding that most of his mate's spend ended up on the sheets between them, mixed with a copious amount of his saliva, pooling on the silk as evidence of their intimacy. With a wry thought, he noted that the servants would no doubt be unsurprised at the discovery. He nuzzled the wet member with his nose, giving the bottom a gentle parting lick while he cradled it in his hand, relishing the squeak that came from the act before he sat up, taking the covers with him while he sat between Cyril's still raised knees, careful not to sit in the puddle he'd made.

“I trust that your reaction is confirmation that I have performed satisfactorily?”

The Omega's arms flopped over his head into the pillows and he smiled, the red in his cheeks intense while the mottled flush led down over his neck and chest, pink patches tapering over his belly. “I can't remember a time when I came off so damned quick, if that's what you're asking.” His smile faltered. “I wish I could scent you. I want to know what you're thinking when you look at me like this.”

Edwin chuckled. “I am thinking that I am the luckiest of Betas to have procured the most handsome of husbands. I am thinking of the way you looked when you came from the ballroom during Lady Hayworth's party. How angry you always seemed to appear. I am admiring the way you've softened for me. The way you've let me touch you when before I thrilled merely at the warmth of you through your gloves.”

“Stop it,” Cyril laughed, dropping one of his arms over his eyes. “I thought you were an Alpha.”

Edwin dipped his head and kissed the inner side of Cyril's knee. “I had, for many years, cursed my status. Cursed my twenty-second birthday for causing me to lose hope and lose my father for a time.” He gave a gentle lick to the bit of skin he had just kissed and his nose flared at a subtle rush of arousal from his mate. “I often thought that it would make my life much harder to be a Beta in an Alpha's world. But when I cast my eyes over you—I cannot do more than thank fate for having given me my greatest desire.”

Cyril mumbled but his smile was undeniable. “You are insufferable.”

He didn't let up. “It is like the sun has finally risen and I have seen the light of it—the plan for me. I have made a vow to you, Cyril. I will do anything for you. Have no doubt of it, my Omega. I would bet my life on your strength, your tenacity, your force of will.”

“I should fill your mouth again, you beast,” the boxer growled. Lifting his arm, he peeked out and gave Edwin a devious expression. “Perhaps I should if it will stop your half-witted blathering.” He sat up. “Or perhaps I should make it so that there is nothing you can say to me that is coherent.”

Edwin was still chuckling, a fact that continued until he felt Cyril's hand slide between his legs and cup him through his trousers, his laughter dying in is throat and replaced by a surprised little gulp. He felt his member tighten into a nearly painful hardness. With a curious satisfaction, he lifted himself to kneel before the sitting Omega, watching while Cyril unfastened his trousers and freed him.

“Lord, are you certain you're a Beta?”

He cleared his throat while his eyelids fluttered with his mate's gentle strokes. “I uhm...I...trust that I am not too...too large for you?”

“No, no,” Cyril smiled up at him before he slicked his palm with his own saliva, running his wet hand over Edwin's arousal.

It was not simply that there was a touch over him, Edwin thought, but the fact that it was _Cyril_ and that it was his _mate's_ hand on his most sensitive and erotic of organs. He had hardly ventured to touch it himself save for those inexplicable moments of fantasy that he had experienced in his more youthful nights. Betas were not often considered _sexual_ creatures and he had been surprised by his own desires and the compulsion to touch himself that had come rarely enough anyway. He had thought, originally, that the compulsion to touch himself was a hint as to his nearing presentation but perhaps it had simply been something of a normality for most Betas—he had to admit, he'd never given it much thought. And now, _now_ , when he was letting his jaw drop with a heavy sigh punctuated by a guttural moan as he watched Cyril lean forward and take him into the wet heat of his mouth, he was absolutely certain that he was a sexual creature in every possible way.

“Oh, by _God_ ,” he whispered before letting out another hard groan when Cyril sucked and lapped at him, his hands working over any part of him that he could not fit into his mouth and the sudden barrage of sensation nearly too much for Edwin to handle. Pleasure shot out from his groin and sent strange whipping waves through every bit of him. He buried his fingers into his mate's hair and gently rubbed his scalp and his nape, trying his best not to pull or put any pressure upon the Omega that could frighten him. His restraint should not have come as a surprise to him but it did anyway. He had never considered that he could be so drawn into passion before but in the moment, he suddenly thought he could vaguely understand how an Alpha could be so utterly unraveled by their Omega. Or perhaps, he amended, it was simply his inexperience in such matters that lent towards this reaction. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, oh, oh, _Cyril._ ” He gritted his teeth and gave a strangled cry as he shook through his release, his fingers splaying to avoid gripping his mate uncomfortably while his body tensed.

He was still reeling from his orgasm, tremors coursing through him when he was rocked by the realization that Cyril had _swallowed_ what he had emitted, the Omega gently pulling on his hips until he could bring Edwin down to wrap his arms around his neck. Cyril kissed him then, the taste of himself not entirely unpleasant and in fact, almost exhilarating.

With a tight embrace, he held his mate and deepened their kiss until they were both panting and sated, Cyril practically sitting in his lap, straddling him, their bodies pressed together intimately. He eased his nose to Cyril's jaw and nudged him softly, awed by the way the boxer let his head loll to the side, exposing his throat in a show of complete submission, inviting Edwin to scent him and, had he been an Alpha, _claim him_. He dipped his lips to that warm expanse and touched his nose to it, pulling in thick, full scenting breaths that nearly made him dizzy. He kissed and suckled close to the ringed scar, holding Cyril about his waist while he put a hand between their bodies and gathered the two of them, stroking and grinding them together with his hips, sure that he was doing a fair job of it only due to Cyril's fingernails digging into his back and the tortured gasps and yelps that came out among his mumbled repetitions of Edwin's name.

He whispered just below his mate's ear, his words barely past his lips before Cyril's head snapped back and his hips jerked as he came again with a harsh cry, the intensity of his passion enough to drive Edwin toward his own release.

_I am yours._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't grab his hips but a blowie? A blowie's okay.
> 
> If anyone cares, I finally actually watched the pilot episode of Supernatural last night and despite not being impressed _in the slightest_ , my boyfriend has convinced me that I should continue because, in his words, "it's a great show." I made it to age 26 without ever having seen an episode of Supernatural and the hype let me down. If anyone is a fan, be sure to tell me I'm not mistaken in watching another predictable episode with strange close-ups and over-drawn acting (looking at you, Ackles, you soap opera diva.) Hopefully boyfriend/man-thing was right when he said "it grows on you."


	15. Chapter 15

To Cyril's great relief, Hollyvale was not so far away from the Baron's primary estate and his introduction to the staff there went smoothly enough. He was pleased to find that there was but one Alpha in the team of servants and, surprisingly enough, he spied a modest gold ring on the third finger of her left hand. Curious, he did manage to ask Edwin about the oddity and was informed that the housekeeper was, in actuality, married to the head butler, a thin but stately man named Blackwell who deftly commanded the footmen and other servants with a stern demeanor. From the way the estate was run, Cyril determined that the partnership was well-formed though his skittishness was not unnoticed by the servants.

“Mrs. Blackwell asked after you this afternoon,” Edwin mentioned casually as he approached Cyril from behind, reaching his hands around from his back to finish the work of undoing the buttons in his waistcoat, furthering his goal of having Cyril naked by continuing to undress him.

“She did?” he asked, letting his hands drop so that Edwin could finish his task unhindered. Their sexual adventures had been continuous but had not progressed. Although he had very much thought that he was ready to have Edwin _completely_ , the experiment in love-making had failed only a few days after reaching Hollyvale, the soft probe at his entrance inexplicably panic-inducing. Even in his anger at himself, Edwin was patient and soothing, venturing no further in the days since. His Beta mate was eager each night to provide Cyril with pleasure, nevertheless, and practice every skill he'd learned in the bedroom, his persistence in perfecting his performance something Cyril was hoping was an enduring trait.

“Oh yes,” Edwin muttered while he placed tender kisses along the side of Cyril's neck. “She's concerned for you. Says you seem nervous.”

“It is not her fault. She is a lovely woman, she is just...”

“Intimidating?”

Cyril sighed. “'Intimidating' is as good a word as any, I suppose.” He groaned when Edwin's fingers tugged and pinched at his nipples. He reached both his arms up and laced his fingers around the Beta's neck, pressing his mate's face down against the side of his throat. “I hope I haven't worried her overly.”

“She is of the impression that it is your nature rather than the force of her presence,” Edwin chuckled. “She has expressed that it wouldn't be good for pups to have you anxious much of the time.”

_Pups._ He swallowed while still enjoying the way Edwin touched him, rasping his still-gloved fingers over his tender nipples. If his panic continued, he would be useless for breeding. His first mated heat was coming up in a week or so and he had considered that they should be trying for pups on the very first go-round. If they were to have as many as possible as early as possible, it could be beneficial for his eventual need to run his father's hotels. Even before he'd been married a month, his father had already sent him several missives with management responsibilities for the two hotels in America.

“Oh no,” Edwin murmured against his neck, moving to suckle the lobe of his ear. “I'll not have any nervousness coming from you, little one. I intend on worshiping this body until you fall asleep atop me, honestly sated. There is no anxiousness allowed. Tell me what has caught you up in your thoughts.”

He leaned his head back onto Edwin's shoulder. “Your housekeeper and I have similar concerns. I am...unsure how I will give you pups if I cannot...”

“I am not worried and you should not be either,” he replied in a placid tone. “You are young and an Omega. Your heat will come and you will decide what you want from me then. I will not force you to do anything you not wish to do. I will not be mindless in a rut and I will be at your complete disposal. Whatever it is that you wish, you may take from me. If it results in a pup, more the better.”

“It is easy for you to _say_ but...”

“Then I will withhold further assertions until we have endured your heat together. Is that fair?”

Cyril turned and faced his mate, suddenly disgruntled by the fact that Edwin was fully-clothed even down to his gloves. He worked to remove them while he spoke. “I want to have children soon. Not to sound...terribly _careless_ about the endeavor, but I wish to have it over and done with. So that I may not worry about it later after my father has passed. I need to be able to perform my duties in his stead.”

“Ah,” Edwin nodded. “It would be rather odd for you to meet with your underlings with your belly rounded out, wouldn't it? It is enough that they can all see over your head, to be reminded that they are receiving orders from an Omega in such a glaring fashion might be a tad _jarring_ for some.”

“Are you quite finished?” Cyril asked, narrowing his eyes and pulling Edwin's shirt down from his shoulders with a hard jerk, incensed at the quip about his height.

“I apologize, little one,” the Beta grinned. “How could I ever make it up to you?”

He played his mate's game and told him exactly how he could show the sincerity of his apology, asking that Edwin do the best he could to perfect his tactics—a prudent request considering that there would likely be another slight indiscretion in the future that he would have to pay for in kind. Their conversation managed to continue after a long hour or so of desperate yelps, gasps, and moans, Cyril's voice a might bit more exerted than it had been before.

“My father has put in my hands the charge of the hotels in New York. There are a few issues I will have to contend with. I am hoping that my presence is not required but it seems that with your nominal inheritance of the empire, the managers and staff are...” he took a few steadying breaths, still recovering from their sensual romping, “...are getting a bit distressed. They are restless to know what is to become of them and I am concerned that my letters are not to be regarded seriously due to my being an Omega.”

Edwin lay under him, his head on the pillows while Cyril was comfortably nestled in the nook of his shoulder. His mild voice rumbled under the boxer's chest and spread a flutter through him. “So we are to go to New York? No need to be anxious over your missives. We should simply make the trip after you've recovered from your heat. I have never been.”

Cyril rolled his eyes. “As well you should avoid it.”

“I say, is this my American mate speaking ill of his country?”

“I should speak ill of a place that sympathizes with those _animals_.”

“Ah,” Edwin mused. “An abolitionist. How could I have forgotten? A noble cause for a noble man.”

He closed his eyes and tried to dampen his flared temper, rubbing his face against Edwin's skin. “It will be pleasant to be back in New York but I have no need to stay there for any length of time. I will take care of my business and then I would prefer to spend any time potentially carrying a pup at Hollyvale. With you. There is much we still have to accomplish for the estate here with renovations and improvements to the tenants' conditions.”

“A quick trip then. To reassure the managers. To allow them to meet me and understand my position. Then we can come back and distract ourselves with the estate and...” he shifted to press his again hardening member against Cyril's hip, his voice lowering. “Each other.”

To that, the Omega had no complaints. His Beta had proven to be more than he had hoped for in all ways—especially this one. He had not quite known what to expect from his mate but every night they spent together bolstered his confidence that he had made the right choice in Edwin. His nightmares had slowly dwindled in frequency but had not left altogether, their effects on him shortened mostly due to the efforts of his ever-patient mate's touch.

As he spread his legs to straddle Edwin in order to sate them both yet again, he let himself filter through his thoughts of his nearing heat. They were often, for him, intensely unbearable. With his formidable strength for an Omega, he had not spent a heat untethered in years, his lust something of a wild frenzy. He could only hope that with Edwin's size and relative strength, he would not hurt his mate in his want and, he thought darkly, he could only hope that with the Beta's presence, that odd fear that had plagued his last few heats would not come to him again. Somehow, through the haze of his need, he had found a bizarre panic that hit him in the thick of his struggles, causing his screams to teeter upon some edge between those of unfettered lust and those of unrefined dread.

“Your scent is souring, little one, even as I stroke you,” Edwin chuckled as he lay back among the pillows, one of his hands steadying Cyril's thigh and the other slowly moving over the both of them. “What could you possibly be agonizing over while atop me? I have not touched you wrongly, have I?” His sudden distress was clear in that green gaze.

“No, no,” he growled, rocking his hips. “You are perfect, I swear it.” His hands came to Edwin's over him, urging him to continue. “I apologize for becoming distracted. With you by my side, I should know that I am perfectly safe...even from myself.”

“Oh, Cyril,” Edwin murmured. “It is the most difficult to contend with yourself in some matters. You endure so well, my love, despite what you may say otherwise.”

He sighed, unwilling to concede to the point, preferring to close his eyes and refocus his attentions to the way Edwin was touching him rather than hold further discussion. If he told Edwin the whole of the truth of his thoughts, he feared that he would have to admit that his reasons for not wanting to return to New York so soon were not only limited to his politics but for the simple fact that _they_ were there. Those specters who were not specters but flesh and blood men. His cowardice appalled him, producing a particular type of outrage that he was unwilling to openly entertain. New York itself had become a darkness in his heart, a sprawling and spreading blight upon the swamps of the coast and his own mind. To Cyril, sometimes it seemed as if there were only four inhabitants of that damned urban nightmare. Four _Alphas._

* * *

His heat came sooner than he had expected and caught him by surprise as he was leaning on the fence of the paddock to watch the horses with his shirtsleeves rolled up and a cigarette he'd just rolled in his mouth. The afternoon was hot and he'd been sweating nearly all morning so it had come as rather a shock when Blackwell approached him with the intent to ask him about the dinner menu and he'd been met with a wide-eyed stare from the older gentleman.

“Sir, I beg your pardon but are you feeling quite alright? I had not been made aware of any accommodations for today...”

Cyril turned his head toward the butler and cocked his broken brow. “Accommodations?” he asked, his cigarette bouncing on his lip.

“For your...” Blackwell raised both of his brows meaningfully and Cyril drew up in his surprise. It had slipped past his notice that he'd become hotter than usual and it was only a matter of time before he was going to be mindlessly prowling about seeking some kind of relief for the need that was currently only a tickle in the back of his mind. “Oh dear,” Blackwell fretted. “I suppose we should get you to your room and call for your mate.”

He took a draw from his cigarette and then ashed it casually, tuning into his body to find any hint as to how close he was to feeling the pain of a heat. He was starting to be able to sense his heartbeat behind his temples. He turned with the butler. “I guess you're right, Mr. Blackwell. I'll drive the staff up the wall if we don't. Could I much bother you for an ewer of ice water to the room?”

“Of course,” Blackwell chuckled. “We will fetch some cold compresses if you so require as well. It is a rather hot day. Unfortunate circumstances, I understand. Will you require anything else? Some of the Omegas on the staff have grown accustomed to eating the cherries from our trees here on the estate. I am told there is something about them that is soothing but,” his face held a light flush, “Some of them are a might bit superstitious, if I may.”

He smiled at the butler and threw away his cigarette as they crossed the threshold into the house. “I can't imagine how it could hurt anything. If they swear to the method, who am I to refute?”

“Very good, sir.” Blackwell bowed. “I will have the staff bring you what you need and I will find your mate to meet you in your room if you are confident in your ability to venture there alone.”

“I will be alright, Mr. Blackwell, thank you,” he chuckled, tapping up the stairs and glad to have escaped the man before his growing erection became apparent against his trousers. Before he could make it to the room, however, he turned the corner in the hall and found himself bumped right into the very man he had been hoping would find him. “Edwin!” he gasped, the sight of his handsome mate sending an inadvertent shiver through his spine.

“Cyril?” the Beta asked, tilting his head before his nose twitched and his eyes widened in shock. “Oh my,” he stated plainly. “I see I will have to cancel some of my scheduled plans, no doubt. How are you feeling, little one? Not too uncomfortable, I hope?”

His breaths were starting to quicken. Even without his scent, he was close enough to Edwin to feel his aura, the sensation allowing for a full-bodied tingle wherever it reached him, his trousers tightening with every second. “I uhm...” He swallowed hard. “If I do not remove my clothes in the next few moments, I am of the mind that they will need replacing.”

Edwin snickered while he took Cyril's sweaty hand and led him the rest of their way to their chamber, the Omega already nearly half undressed before they had even entered through the door. “I see I will be having a devil of a time with you, Omega.” The Beta's green eyes were flashing with amusement while he watched Cyril struggle with his clothes, frustrated growls escaping him while he threw each piece to the floor before kicking off his shoes and dropping his trousers with abandon. “My dearest, how are you going to feel about the staff coming in here with your water and your—”

Cyril didn't allow his Beta to finish, gripping his cravat in a rough hand and snapping the man downward in a punishing kiss that didn't even _begin_ to satisfy what was about to turn into what he was sure was going to be one of his most intense and desperate heats in recent memory. Thankfully, Edwin seemed to take it well, allowing Cyril to push him onto the bed and clamber over him awkwardly, forcefully pinning the man down by his wrists and straddling his waist as he fair mauled the man with his wet, open-mouthed kisses that incited a possessive and basic instinct that had been hidden somewhere deep inside the strong-willed Omega. It felt so blasted _good_ to be without the restraints holding him down and his mate—his mate!—was ready and willing to give him whatever he desired, he could have wept with the joy of it.

The silk brocade of Edwin's waistcoat against the hypersensitive flesh between Cyril's thighs was intense and he was _almost_ too far gone to care that he had already soaked the thing with the fluid that was seeping from his backside. Unfortunately, the pang of thought hit him hard—he could never be gone enough. For the pain to entirely subside, he would have required an Alpha's scent. Even if Edwin were an Alpha—he would have to endure it however he could.

_But at least there is no knot._

The notion soothed him if only a little and buoyed his morale enough that he could lose himself again to the brush of Edwin's tongue against his and the way his lover played with his lips every chance he could find within his forward and relentless kisses. It was enough that when the staff arrived with his required materials, he didn't bother to stop, heedless to how it must have looked for a naked Omega to be bent over his fully-dressed Beta, holding him down and _leaking_ over him. Edwin, to his great credit, managed to nod to whatever servants came in and made vague hand-gestures with his fingers to direct them while he was still distracted by those hot, impassioned kisses that Cyril was intent on giving.

Heat was flowing through him in waves and he could feel the sweat starting to bead over his skin, dampening his hair while more slopping gushes of slick escaped him. He reluctantly let go of Edwin's hands but found relief when the Beta did not move them, leaving them near his head and against the counterpane while those studious eyes followed Cyril's every movement. He ran his hands up his stomach, over his chest, his neck, and ended with his fingers fisting in his hair, spiking it with his sweat while he rocked his hips just to spark every nerve that was set aflame with the friction.

“You are so handsome,” Edwin breathed, still left unmoving under him, his lips wet and puffed from the harsh treatment Cyril had put them through. The Beta would face punishment for every compliment he rained down. Oh so pleasurable punishment, Cyril thought devilishly.

With shaking hands and his tongue just slightly poking from the side of his gritted teeth, Cyril focused on kneeling so he could remove Edwin's cravat and open his waistcoat and his shirt, passing his palms over his mate's bare chest. He felt waves of goosebumps rise over his body when Edwin's gentle groan met his ears, a product of experimentation with the Beta's nipples—the careful pinch, perhaps. The power he held was intoxicating and it was difficult for him to keep himself grounded, to keep himself from dissolving into a puddle of uselessness. His shivers and trembles were beginning to become more intense and his breaths were coming in short pants. That heavy instinct was screaming at him to _present_ himself and he fought it hard, choosing instead to ease down, dribbling the whole way, until he could work on unfastening Edwin's trousers, pulling them off with a tad bit more force than was necessary. His whole body was tingling from his closeness to his mate and all his instincts were screaming at him at the same time.

_Touch, let him touch, grasp, knead, pull, kiss, suck. Let him hold. Let him lick. Let him_ claim.

It was absurd, he thought, growling through his teeth while his overly abundant saliva began to drip from his bottom lip. Edwin was not an Alpha. His husband couldn't claim him. He paused and splayed his fingers out on the Beta's bare belly, staring down at the gold ring that shined in the afternoon light from the windows. He _was_ claimed in a round-about sort of way but he _wanted_ to be Edwin's—in all ways.

He sat himself down on his mate's lower tummy, easing back until he felt his spine stiffen as he came upon that familiar and vaguely terrifying presence. His eyes were closed and through the black he could feel his breathing quicken through his nose. He was in heat and everything was too warm, too _hot_ , and there was a pressure against him, teasing him.

_And the sheets are dirty._

“ _No..._ ” he whimpered while everything crashed down and _shattered_.

There was a hard growl and a harsh grip on his wrists, jerking his hands up and shaking him out of his tenseness. He cried out, struggling hard against that impossible strength, pulling and thrashing until he had managed to slip free, the force of his fight enough to send him toppling off the bed onto the floor. The carpet burned on his naked flesh as he struggled to right himself, scrambling toward the corner where he could hide behind one of the low wing-backed chairs. He curled into the tight space with his back hard into the corner and his feet tucked against him. His hands were balled into fists, ready to lash out at any moment, ready to land a good jab or two into the Alpha that would dare drag him from his refuge. His heart was pounding, sweat pouring over his skin while his panic overflowed, boiling over while his eyes started to cloud from the sides as if the well-lit room was somehow suddenly too dark. He heard the chair that was hiding him creak very softly, a weight upon it.

_Alpha!_

His feet slid against the slick-wetted carpet while he tried to push himself further into the corner, his fists near his throat and his whole body trembling mightily with both his heat and his terror. _Alpha_ was sitting in the chair. He was just _sitting_. The subtle cunning of the gesture wasn't lost on Cyril...there was nothing _Alpha_ loved more than to gloat over how well they'd done in trapping, hunting, and _killing_. It was a way to get Cyril into thinking that there was nothing wrong. That there was nothing to be afraid of. That everything was _normal_ and that he was _overreacting._

_You're going to die, Omega._

If he could keep himself away from the _bed_. His vision was clouding even further when he shifted even as he trembled, opening his eyes as wide as they could go, straining to see through the mysterious dark haze at the edges. The door was too far. _Alpha_ would pounce. There was no way out.

_There's no way out. You're going to die here, Muir._

Cold hit him from above, jarring and shocking, the extreme temperature difference of the steady stream of water on his head and neck causing him to scream, his whole body jerking against the undesirable sensation. He writhed until he was laying with his head propped up against the wall, screaming intermittently while the water splashed over his chest and belly, small chips of ice bouncing from his flesh and settling atop the water-logged carpet while he made the attempt to block it with his hands with absolutely no success at all.

When the stream was gone, he was left panting, laying helpless and belly-up in the corner, the edge of his heat worn away but his body in a vulnerable position. He felt hot tears well and escape and he began weeping, his ringing ears somehow still managing to hear a soft voice speaking to him from above.

“ _Tell me what you want, little one._ ”

He mumbled out his only request, weeping around his words. “Just _kill me._ ”

There was a pause, as if _Alpha_ was considering the merits of his request. Perhaps he was.

“I'm afraid I can't do that, little Omega. There would be someone who would miss you very much. Aside from your father, I believe you have a _mate_ that would be quite upset. Devastated, even, I should say.”

“Oh _God,_ ” he cried, hard weeping overtaking him while he covered his head in his arms.

“Tell me what you _want_ , little one,” he repeated, his voice strangely pleading.

“ _Mate._ I want my _mate._ ” He rasped in a breath and gave a desperate sob. “ _I want my Edwin._ ”

The chair slowly moved and Cyril had no more strength in him to struggle. His eyes were tight shut and he was limp when he was pulled into a tight hold, the gentle touch of a familiar hand on his nape and the soft shushes that were blown into the shell of his ear soothing him while he wrapped his arms around a cool neck and held tight.

“I'm here,” Edwin breathed against him, his voice that ocean wave that washed him clean. “I'm here, Cyril, I'm here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've had enough of being spoiled without a cliffhanger. Happy Monday.
> 
> Up Next: New York! And we get to meet another boxer! You're all going to love Hugh, he's adorbs (I ship him with Miss Watson. Wait...am I allowed to ship in my own stories?)
> 
> You all seem to be getting your wish. This story is already shaping up to be significantly longer than the previous ones. I think we're gonna break 50k with it which is good because I only have an extremely rough idea for my next project. If anyone wants to weigh in, I'm gonna be working with F/F, A/O.


	16. Chapter 16

There would be no pup. Edwin had cursed himself from the moment he'd made the mistake of pulling Cyril's hands from his body by his wrists. Of course, Cyril had been shocked by the marks he'd left on the skin just over Edwin's ribs—the result of a panicked grip, no doubt but even with those as the result, the Beta was still cursing his very name for his own reaction in the moment. Grabbing Cyril by the wrists was a _clear_ violation of their marriage contract and had been present in the third paragraph _explicitly_. He had spent the rest of that night applying compresses to Cyril's body, giving him deliberate loving touches with his hands and his mouth and feeding him the estate's cherries, which, incredibly, did seem to have an odd sort of soothing effect. The rest of his heat was spent without experimentation, each touch and caress cautious and premeditated. Edwin had spent more of it apologizing for his mistake, insisting that Cyril was in no way to blame for the debacle.

The Omega undoubtedly had not believed him, his demeanor as his heat fell away becoming increasingly guarded and cool, his attempts at further sexual pursuits met with a particular aversion that prevented them. When Edwin had confronted him while they were both trapped on the ship to New York, he had only managed to get a little snip from the boxer.

“ _I do not require your touch at every moment, Beta. I am not so uncontrolled!_ ”

He had not broached the topic since then, their arrival in New York laced with an uneased tension that was unquestionably worsened by Cyril's nervousness at facing the hotel managers without the aide of his father. The unfortunate nature of their crossing had made it so that Edwin was much too distracted to be amazed by the city that Cyril insisted was not incredible in the slightest although the Beta did have to admit, it was much less like London than he had thought—though just as smelly.

Their arrival at the hotel had been entirely planned and the staff was eager to scuttle about with their luggage and fetch them any and all that they required. Cyril, with a cool and placid front, waved them away and led Edwin toward the manager's office, barging in without any knock at all, his expression unchanging as the thin Beta manager stood from behind his desk while Edwin hovered his huge frame into the doorway.

“Young Mr. Muir,” came the soft greeting, “We've been expecting your arrival. Naturally, you will be placed in a luxury suite.” The man's gloved hands folded in front of him while his eyes passed to Edwin. “And this gentleman is your...”

“Mate,” Cyril stated flatly. “He is my mate. Mr. Penberth, heir of Belcourt. Edwin, this is Mr. Hamlin. He oversees the operations in New York.”

“Oh,” the manager mused, his mouth twitching with nervousness as he gave Edwin's tall form a once-over. “It will be a pleasure to host you, Mr. Penberth. I trust you are here to inspect your future holdings?”

Edwin finally let himself grin. “Nothing of the sort, Mr. Hamlin. I do not believe I have much interest in hotels.” Cyril glanced at him and his scent warmed when Edwin passed him a covert little wink. “I must admit, I find much of the work Cyril does terribly boring. He's much better suited for it than I am.”

“Better...suited?” Hamlin's brows inched upward. “I...Well I...” He cleared his throat. “The elder Mr. Muir has much faith in him,” he gave a charming smile, “and we will too. You are certainly right, Mr. Penberth, a very smart little Omega we have in Mr. Muir. Very capable.”

Edwin puffed out a proud little sniff even as he traded a commiserating expression with his small mate. “Nevertheless,” he added, his voice gaining a tight darkness, “I happen to be especially good with _numbers_ , Mr. Hamlin, and since I am intending on investing a large amount of my current funds into my mate's pursuits, I do believe I shall be prodding a bit into the ledgers with his permission, of course.”

Cyril tilted his head, not quite facing Edwin but casting him an impish smirk. “Of course, Edwin,” he murmured, “you may _prod_ at whatever you wish.” He snapped his eyes back to Hamlin. “Make sure he is provided with the accounts. Immediately. We will be upstairs.” He took a peek at his pocket watch. “I will meet you in an hour, Mr. Hamlin, here in your office. There are a few topics of conversation that I believe are overdue between us.”

The Beta swallowed, his charming smile faltering. “Will Mr. Penberth be joining us?”

Edwin waved his hand. “Oh no, I am certain I would find the proceedings most tedious. Aside,” he chuckled, “It is not _my_ name that is gilded over the door, is it?”

“No,” Hamlin breathed, his smile thin, “I suppose it is not.”

Cyril rounded on him as soon as the bellhop had left them with the ledgers in their suite, his fingers gripping a glass of brandy while he frowned. “You are ever the Beta, Edwin, and yet here you are _antagonizing_ the staff. You are so...” He took a swig of the brandy, “ _subv_ _ersive_.”

“Whatever could you mean?” he grinned while he placed the records on the ornately accented desk, lighting the lamp with deft fingers before he sat.

Cyril came behind him, his hand on the back of the chair and his weight leaning forward so that Edwin could feel his presence. “You are insidious, my mate. You're going to give Hamlin a conniption. The manager in Buffalo is not such a traditionalist but Hamlin was fully expecting you to at least escort me to my meetings. As it is, he will assume that—”

“That I have utter faith in your abilities and that if something were to go horribly awry, I would be quite ardent about an inspection of the records,” he supplied. “That is, if there is nothing bizarre about them already which would result in his firing.”

“You cannot expect...?” The Omega leaned over Edwin's shoulder, his warm scent putting a slight tingle in Edwin's spine. His associations to that particular musk were obviously a lasting effect of their mateship and the Beta was more than pleased to enjoy the pleasure of Cyril's presence.

“After I am finished with my inspection and you have conferred with the separate managers, we shall have a little meeting of our own. If there are individual records scattered about that should match the records provided, then we shall need those as well for comparative purpose.” He winked at Cyril over his shoulder. “After all, little one, a hotel is merely a large estate, is it not? One with ever-changing tenants, I should say. Complex and obnoxious, no doubt, but no more of a challenge than running Belcourt.”

“I fully expect you to eat those words,” Cyril noted, setting his brandy down only long enough to remove his clothes, strutting naked with his glass to wash up before his meeting. When his glass was empty and he'd changed into a fresh set, he dipped his lips down to his husband's ear, his breath sending shivers into Edwin's very bones. “Don't stay up too late, Beta.”

“I will not but Cyril,” he turned his head, giving the boxer a serious look. “Be sure to wake me up.” He reached out, hooking his finger under his mate's chin to tickle at the soft skin there. “Especially if you need anything. I have missed having you in my mouth, little one.”

Cyril's eyes flashed in the light of the lamp and his scent tinged only briefly with arousal before he pulled away without a word, clicking the suite's door shut and leaving Edwin with only the the books to distract him. Although he was often happiest pouring over numbers at Belcourt, he couldn't help but turn back to the scrawled accounts and find them blurring in his vision as his eyes unfocused.

“Oh Cyril,” he whispered, “I am so blasted _sorry._ ” He made a fist and tapped his first knuckle to his lips. If he hadn't grabbed at the Omega's _wrists._ If he could have only reacted in a different way to the pain of Cyril's grip, he could have avoided the entire scene. His helpless feeling was coming in waves over him again and he leaned forward, forcing his eyes to focus again. He had two reasons for having come to New York and looking over the accounts was only one of them. Getting at least some of it done this evening was imperative if he were to focus on the other the next day while his husband held more of his meetings with the staff and the officious Beta, Hamlin.

With a slight shake of his head, he got to work, pouring over the books until late into the night, his mind grinding out averages and commonalities until he felt the familiar pull of Morpheus. He slid naked under the cool sheets of the large bed with the hope that perhaps, with his expression earlier, that Cyril would come to him and wake him for a tender touch.

He was disappointed to wake the next morning having been left in slumber, woken by early morning light seeping in through the slit in the curtains. At least, he thought, his mate was beside him and he rolled toward the warmth of his Omega, brushing the backs of his fingers across Cyril's shoulders, sliding his pointer down his nape and over the place where his neck met his back. When he scented an alert contentment, he replaced his finger with his lips, brushing and placing soft kisses over that delicate thin flesh before he rasped his teeth gently over it and relished the boxer's small shiver.

“Why,” Cyril mumbled, “do you insist on this?”

“This?” Edwin murmured back.

“Seducing me. You know I am useless to breed. I cannot even bring myself to...” He sighed. “During a heat, even.”

“I am content to pleasure you, regardless of your perceived shortcomings.”

“Our marriage is not consummated. An annulment would not be difficult to procure. You require an heir for your title and I am not a fit mate.” There was no sorrow in his scent. He was masking it again—a singular ability that made Edwin quite peevish when it was used against him.

“I am not of the mind that an annulment is in my best interest. Aside from that, I would imagine that _you_ would be the party more likely to seek one, as _I_ am the partner who violated an implicitly worded portion of our marriage contract.” The suggestion made him grit his teeth, a nagging emotional pain searing through his chest. “And...for the sake of transparency, as I once made you a very important promise, I must admit that I am loathe to even mention it. I...” He again made a fist and tapped his first knuckle on his mouth and then his chin, wishing so much that the Omega would simply turn to look at him. “I would be destroyed by it. I...I love you, Cyril.”

He scented how his words struck his handsome mate, a stinging and odd sorrow suddenly lancing through Edwin's senses. His reply was nevertheless, clear. “I will not separate from you, Edwin. You were not at fault.” Edwin had opened his mouth to rebuke the claim but Cyril's statement continued. “And...well...I love you too.” Finally, he slowly turned about, his body haloed by the light from the window that looked out over the city's skyline. “I want to show you about New York before we leave but for now, I'm afraid I'll be busy with work. Do you have enough to entertain yourself?”

Edwin let himself have a small smile. “I have a few letters to write and I believe I have some exploring to do. Perhaps you have a guide for me in mind who can show me a few small places? Nothing spectacular, of course. I shall save those for you.”

Cyril smirked. “I think I have a friend in mind who might be up to give you a whirl about town but keep in mind, Beta.” He arched his broken brow in warning. “He is an Omega and he has a solid swing. I expect you to keep him out of trouble.”

“Is he not _my_ guide? Should he not be keeping _me_ out of trouble?”

Cyril chuckled. “ _You_ are not the one with a sailor's mouth and a burning temper.”

“He sounds intriguing.”

His mate growled, a possessive hand curving about Edwin's neck and pulling him nose to nose with the riled boxer. “Keep also in mind, _Beta_ ,” he snarled, the word a clear threat, “You are _mine._ ”

“Mmm,” Edwin hummed against Cyril's lips. “That I am.”

* * *

The Omega that met him outside the hotel's grand facade was shorter than Cyril by a few inches, leaving Edwin fair towering over him and marveling at his scrappy tweed suit and the lilting Irish sound to his voice.

“Well, you're a bit taller than I expected when Cyril said his man was Beta,” he sneered with a lopsided grin. “I'm Hugh, it's swell to meet you, Mr. Penberth.”

“Hugh?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“Don't bother looking for my last name, I fair think I lost the right to use it when I told my da I was off to find my fortune.” He gave a wink up at Edwin while he fished a cigarette from his pocket. “Just Hugh will be fine. Cyril said you was looking for a man to give you a bit of a tour, is that right?”

“That would be accurate,” he smiled, studying the little boxer's face. He would have been pretty save for a prominent scar that ran across the bridge of his clearly once-broken nose and the slight off-set of his jaw that Edwin had previously mistaken for merely a lopsided smile—the effect seemed to be more permanent than he'd originally thought.

“I suppose I should be asking you where you thought you'd like to go first, as it's your first time in New York.” He shrugged. “I can get you anywhere but some places would be better to hire a coach.”

“Actually,” Edwin said, subtly leading the boxer toward the edge of the building, “I was wondering if you might have some information for me.”

The Omega's eyes narrowed and he adjusted his stance, his feet further apart and his arms crossed. “Aye? What kind of information are you looking for? Perhaps something we need to sit over a lager for?”

The hint was not lost on the tall Beta and he agreed, allowing the Omega to lead him past several obvious taverns until they had wandered a fair ways from the hotel onto a street that he was sure was not considered part of New York's main thoroughfares. The tavern he'd chosen was dimly lit and overly warm but quiet with few patrons so early in the afternoon. Hugh ordered for both of them, tipping his chin to the little Omega barkeep who, Edwin noted, must have also made a career for himself as a fighter, his face bearing quite a bit of the evidence.

“Alright, Beta,” Hugh said, sitting back in the chair as he sipped his lager. “What are you looking for?”

“How long have you known Cyril?”

“Since he knocked my damned mouth apart in the only fight I took with him. The cocky little cunt put me out. I couldn't eat for a week, had to take all my food as liquor to dull the pain.” He rubbed at his crooked jaw. “Never forgave the bastard.” He smiled. “Surprised the hell out of me when he turned out to be a decent lad. Took care of all my fees for my medical. Aye. Couldn't fight, couldn't make it up.” He shrugged a shoulder. “A hell of a man, Muir.”

Edwin snickered, sipping his beverage with care. “And his journey to England. I got the impression that it was not of his own volition.”

“Agh,” Hugh grunted. “For that matter, Mr. Penberth, there are a few blokes about who may or may not know that Cyril is, actually, _alive_.” He took a swig. “He left a bit rapidly and I hope he's given you the story behind it if he's been honest with you, Beta.”

“I know it.”

“Aye, of course you do.”

“There is a detail that I am keen for someone to elaborate upon, however. I was hoping that you would be able to do that for me, or you would know of someone who could.”

“If you want to know who did the dirty deed, you'll have to look elsewhere, Penberth. I've made a home for myself here and I haven't the pride Cyril's famous for. An Alpha tells me to throw a fight and offers me a bag of money to do it and you'd bet your life I'd pull the damned stunt for certain.” He shook his head. “I'm not about to out them to you and that's half for me and half for your own sake. Big as you are, you're still a Beta.”

“I'm more interested in how he survived.”

The Omega put his lager down and leaned forward, his forearms crossed as he hunched his shoulders, Edwin leaning forward with his head tilted to the side to seek out an explanation. Hugh sighed. “The night it happened, I was at Molly's,” he twirled his hand in the air. “It's something Cyril would call a...a _cathouse_. About three to four in this morning, the girls and I are all out in the hall because Molly has Cyril half-dead in the parlor with blood about covering everything. Fair as I could tell, this lad had carried the poor boy straight from hell to the only place he could think that would be safe. As Molly's the only Alpha about, there's no threat for the heat he was in and she'd know what to do.”

Edwin found his brows knitting in the center, his back curling down as he hung on every word. “And the man who brought him. His name?”

Hugh shook his head. “I don't know his real name. I only know what they called him in the ring. He was a young little thing and Cyril had really knocked him around before he put him out. I'm surprised he bothered with Muir after the beating he took in the fight. They called him Fox for the red in his hair.”

“And this...this Fox. What happened to him?”

Hugh shrugged, leaning back again. “I suppose the Alphas put him down. That or he caught wise and turned his tail. He stayed with Cyril until his father had come for him. If I had been that lad, I would have been gone before even then. Perhaps gone before Cyril even opened his eyes.” He tilted his head at Edwin, his smile inching back onto his crooked mouth. “You know you're perfect for that rascal.”

“Sometimes I am of the mind that I am simply a tad too tall for his liking.”

“Agh,” Hugh chuckled. “Poor Cyril and his damned broken sniffer. You cannot put the blame for that one on me, I fair say he had that soddin' nose long afore I knew him. Let him have his way and he'll come around eventually. Pride had that one. Busted as it is, he'll stick it up in the air, the blasted cunt.”

Edwin couldn't help but burst into a series of short laughs that tapered off into chuckles at the crude Irishman's candor. “You have been most helpful, Hugh. As much as I would adore to hear more about your tales with Cyril, I have reason to find this Fox and I can't very well explain it. It should sound quite uncommon for any who are not myself but if you did happen to run across someone who knew what became of him—would you please tell me?”

“Well o'course, Penberth. You're my Cyril's mate. O'course I'll ask around for you. Mayhap we might make a stop o'er to Molly's. Some of the girls might have known the boy if his managers weren't so tight as others. I say, we have a grand ol' mystery on our hands, don't we?” His eyes flashed with mischief. “Just promise me one thing, Beta.”

“What is that?”

“You're doing this to help, ain't ya?”

“Of course.”

“That's what I thought.” Hugh nodded and tapped his temple seriously. “He's not right after, is he?”

Edwin felt his heart twang with sorrow. “No...I'm afraid he's not.”

Hugh sighed. “Well. Can't help him if we don't try, can we? Off to find a Fox, Mr. Penberth. Aye?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh, you gotta help Edwin get his dick wet.
> 
> Up Next: Good Golly, Miss Molly!
> 
> Comments/Concerns are always appreciated. (Omega/Omega love story with Hugh and Miss Watson? Anyone? ...Bueller?)


	17. Chapter 17

Molly turned out to be Miss Molly Mitchell—or _Madam_ Molly Mitchell, Edwin corrected in his mind as he gave her a deep bow that seemed to tickle her straight to her toes. She was older, her reddish auburn locks pulled into a beautiful chignon and her shoulders bared by her clearly expensive purple silken gown that was quite fashionable. She gave him her hand and he kissed the backs of her fingers as if she were an Omega debutante, her powerful Alpha fragrance fluffed and content in the stylish parlor of her brothel. Blue eyes under dark lashes sparkled while she smiled at him and chuckled.

“Mr. Penberth, my oh my do you smell like one delicious Omega. Quite the lucky man you are to have bagged _Cyril Muir_.”

His brows raised a bit in shock.

“Oh don't think I haven't memorized that boy with how often he was here, tucking his spending money into garters and tricking more than one of my Omegas into his room at a time.” She fluffed her skirts around her while she sat on the couch and gestured to the settee with her fan, urging Edwin to sit. He did while Hugh snuck his way to the cupboard and poured himself a brandy. Without looking over at the little Irish gent, Molly addressed him. “Hugh dear, how gracious of you to pour Mr. Penberth a drink. Make sure to get yourself one after you've delivered it to him.”

The Omega grumbled something unintelligible while he made the journey of a few steps to hand off the glass to Edwin who couldn't help but find himself smirking.

She flipped her fan open and lazily made a few passes at her ear. “I am curious as to why you're here, Mr. Penberth. You're clearly not looking for any company.” She cast a soft glare to the archway toward the hall where Edwin spied a few curious Omegas peering in before they scattered at her look. “When did you arrive in New York?”

He leaned forward. “Only the day before yesterday, Cyril has been handling a few business matters and I'm on a rather intriguing quest of my own. A quest that requires a fair amount of discretion, if it is not so much to ask, Madam.”

“Call me Molly,” she invited with her charming grin.

“Molly,” he chuckled, “I am looking for a boxer who was called 'Fox' in the ring. He was the fighter who brought Cyril to your parlor the night...” he didn't finish as Molly began nodding her head, her brows fixing into a frown.

“Oh yes. I remember him. Red hair. Nasty business but I understand why he would have brought him here.” She fanned herself again, her strong scent filled with a possessive pride. “I would die before another Alpha would touch my Omegas.” She flashed a soft glance to Hugh. “If I could protect my fighters the same, I should never be unhappy.”

Hugh scoffed. “Aye and we would ne'er make a cent again in our lives. And nor would you, you bleedin' nug.”

“Oh!” She flapped her fan shut and threw it at the Irishman, caring not that she missed when he ducked, the thing knocking harmlessly against the wall behind him. “Don't listen to him, Mr. Penberth. He's as sour as they come. All of those damned boxers are sweet and sour depending on their odds. I imagine Cyril's been having a hell of a time in London without being able to fight.”

“Well,” Edwin tilted his head. “He did manage to have _one_. I suppose he has been feeling a bit deprived but he hardly will have the time now that he's set to manage business and, of course, the estate...”

“Estate?” she asked, her expression that of mild surprise. “My, he did land himself quite a gent while the season was on, didn't he? Oh. Tell me it was a love match, I am a sucker for a decent love story, especially when it involves my little boxers.”

Hugh cleared his throat loudly. “You've already forgotten why the Beta's here, love, he's looking for _Fox_. Did you ever catch the poor boy's name or are you going to keep us here forever with your trap flapping?”

“I wish I had another fan to toss at you, Hugh. No, I don't know his name.” She brushed off her lap in a fidget. “But, if you would like, I will call in each of my Omegas and ask them if they know him. It is very possible that they might be able to help you in your search better than I would. They are not trapped here, after all.”

“Oh, lovely,” Hugh quipped with a roll of his eyes. “We get here and you give Cyril's mate a tour of the toffers? I hope he doesn't hear about this little parade, Miss Molly, for god's sake, you'll have him tearing the place apart.”

She took in a steeling breath, her scent tinging with annoyance. “Would you kindly _sit down_ , Omega?”

“Like hell I will.” He gulped from his brandy and strode toward the arch to the hall where he looked around the corner and barked. “Might as well form a line if you're going to be standing here like you are, you eavesdropping little cunts.”

Molly sighed and Edwin couldn't help but take a sip of his brandy to keep himself from laughing. The steady and patient Alpha rolled her eyes. “Hugh, for God's sake, just send in the first of them and go roll around with Jody, she's downstairs in her heat and she could use a good romp if you'd care to relieve her. If you don't care for the task, pick one you like after they've told Penberth their piece and get the hell out of my parlor before I stuff you straight into a barrel and ship you back to the isle myself.”

He grinned back into the room, his teeth flashing with the width of it. “Don't mind if I take you up on the generosity, dear Miss Molly, always love to be of service to the girls in any way I can. Yes mum, perfectly brilliant idea, Jody will be in fine hands.” He gave the two of them a slight bow even as he was loosening his cravat. “Beta, you take your time, I'll meet you when the kitten's purring. Count on it.” He disappeared in a flash while the first of the line of Omegas tapped her way into the room, giving Edwin a deep curtsy.

They had gone through at least five of them before Edwin was met by Miss Abigail, a stunningly pretty young Omega who looked more like a debutante than a whore, her dress a pale pastel pink and her hair adorned with matching fluffy feathers. She had full, pouting lips and crystal blue eyes framed by drooping dark lashes and ringlets of blonde near her ears that had been purposely left free from her elaborate coiffure. She gave him a very proper curtsy and then moved to sit on the opposite lounge, pulling out a delicate paper fan and fluttering it at her throat, her scent strong and mixing well with Molly's.

“Abby, darling,” Molly said with warmth in her tone, “Mr. Penberth is looking for a boxer called 'Fox.' Does that mean anything to you? He was the boy who brought Cyril.”

Miss Abigail's brows only slightly twitched together at the recollection. Her voice was nearly ethereal and Edwin swallowed, having a sudden protective urge pulse through him at the sound. “Oh. The one who brought Cyril? I haven't seen him since that night.”

“Do you know his name?” Molly asked, her voice exponentially softer when she spoke to this particular Omega.

She nodded, her pout more pronounced and her pale cheeks flushed. “Forgive me, Miss Molly, he and I were prone to _engagements_.”

“Well, darling, that _is_ what you're here to do,” Molly snickered. “His name?”

“Benjamin. I only heard his family name one time but if I recall correctly, it was Belden. He once told me that his family owned a farm somewhere but I...” She looked to Edwin apologetically. “I'm sorry, Mr. Penberth. I cannot remember where.”

Edwin leaned forward. “You haven't seen him since?”

“I was of the mind that he'd left town. The men who'd done such a horrible thing to Cyril were no doubt going to do the same to Benny. They would find out that he had been the one to go against them...to rescue Cyril. He was very frightened. He told me that he would send me letters from his home. I waited but...they never came.”

“Thank you, Miss Abigail,” he smiled at her. “You've been most helpful to me.”

She was excused by her madam and Molly gave Edwin meaningful look. “Quite a few of the men have their favorites, it is unlikely that the others know anything about him.”

“I understand. I am glad that Hugh brought me, I feel that with a name, I will be much aided in my search.” Unfortunately, he wasn't at all convinced that even with a name he should be able to find the man who'd brought Cyril from the brink of death but a name _was_ a start. His connections in America were disastrously slim and he was nearly entirely dependent on Hugh's connections to get him closer to Cyril's rescuer.

“Belden,” Molly mused. “I'll keep my ear to the ground, Mr. Penberth. If I hear anything of the boy, I'll contact you. I assume you're staying at the Muir?”

“That's right.”

She nodded, tapping her chin with her finger. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve and I will take care to keep your search quiet. Should I assume that little Cyril remains unaware of the quest?”

He nervously chuckled. “Oh yes. He would perhaps be a tad annoyed by my meddling. It is just that he has come so far and things have changed for him so much. I could be wrong, in fact, I may as well be...but I am of the mind that he needs a little bit of a grounding. A way to come back to himself.” He stared up at her. “Do you understand?”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I ken.”

Despite being considered a guest at the brothel, Edwin felt more comfortable after the Alpha had been called away and he was free to allow the eager Omegas to lead him back toward the kitchen where they fed him buttered scones and fawned over him, their light and cloying scents pleasant but nothing compared to what he thought of Cyril's honeyed fragrance. There were a few girls but the ones that were particularly interesting to him were the boys, of which he met three. They were all quite young, the eldest appearing just barely twenty. They were lithe and fragile, their features even more delicate than his cousin, Hollow's. None of the boys bothered with waistcoats or proper clothes, preferring tight trousers with just thin almost gossamer shirts that gaped open to reveal their delectable collarbones and their delicious scents.

The youngest, a boy called Aaron, spoke to him from where he sat on one of the kitchen counters after he'd swiped a plum from the pantry.

“You're Cyril's mate? The boxer Cyril Muir?”

“I am.”

He nodded, his eyes roving up and down Edwin's form where he sat at the table. “Tall for a Beta. Big for a Beta.” He tilted his head in a show of submission, his voice softer. “ _Strong_ for a Beta.”

The oldest piped up. “To mate one of the boxers? _Cyril_ , even. Must be. They're quite vicious, those brutes. Nothing like a proper Omega. They're determined to prove something, I suppose.” The ghost of a grin flashed over his mouth. “Although, they are usually quite the gentlemen. Especially Cyril.”

Edwin sipped some of the milk he'd been offered. “Do I understand correctly that Miss Mitchell does not allow you to barter with Alphas?”

“Oh no,” Aaron giggled, “Never with Alphas. There are other Omegas who are in places that will cater to Alphas but Miss Molly is a jealous abbess. She will not let us be touched by anyone who is not a Beta or an Omega...she has found herself lucky to have become the favorite of the boxers. They tire of being so harried by their Alpha trainers. They come here for reprieve.”

“And for us,” the eldest added, licking his lips.

“Forgive me,” Edwin smiled. “You're all so...proper.”

The three of them twittered with the praise and preened along with the quiet ladies in the kitchen, sharing glances of appreciation. The middle boy spoke.

“Miss Molly has us all tutored. She jests that it is to tell us apart from our clientele but it cannot be true. The boxers are all such beasts, it should not be difficult to pick them out. I cannot imagine why they would choose to fight each other. It's quite unnatural, I should think.”

Edwin gave a small shrug with his smile. “Have you watched them box?”

“Oh no,” Aaron replied, his nose crinkled. “Stuff oneself into a dingy basement surrounded by Alphas? It sounds absolutely like a nightmare. I should probably faint if I were to ever step foot inside such a horrible place.”

“Ah, then you could not see how powerful they look when they fight.” He could feel his face warming with the recollection. “They are impressive, if you'll take my word for it. If Cyril were here, he would relate to you all the tale of how I became besotted by him after I watched him decisively win in a fight against a Beta.”

They perked and the eldest grinned.

“If any of them could take a Beta it would be Cyril.” He glanced at the other boys. “I told you he could never keep himself from a fight. And you didn't believe me. I swear to it that Cyril could take an Alpha if he wanted! He could take any man alive one-on-one!”

“Agh,” the middle Omega scoffed, “Still pining over Muir.” He lifted a brow at Edwin and leaned on the counter. “Thom's had it bad for Cyril for years but the only men Cyril beds are other boxers _._ ” His mouth quirked to the side. “Some boxers like boxers. I suppose if they want a cock, they'd prefer one from a man who looks more the part of what they'd have naturally, eh? Though, I suppose...Cyril only beds _one_ man now.” He smirked.

Edwin was still smiling as a door opened off to the left of the little Omegas, Hugh prancing up the stairs on the other side with that crooked grin and a glint in his light brown eyes. The scent from the doorway was strong and reeked of sex and heat and...contentment. At least the man could do a job and do it right. Of course, he stank to high heaven from that particular errand and when he looked between the Beta and the Omegas, he shrugged and put his hands in his pockets.

“A little soiree back in the kitchen? Thom, Marcus, Aaron, lovely to see you three still making trouble together.” He turned his attention to Edwin. “O'course, Beta, if you didn't find anything out that was of merit, I understand. These three have heads full of hot air from all the lies we tell them about how pretty they are when their arses are up and their legs are spread.”

“Quite the contrary,” he stated while he stood, ignoring the indignant fluster of the three males. He was expecting to escort Hugh home to avoid his confrontation with any Alphas over his scent. “Miss Abigail was able to provide me with a name for our Fox. Benjamin Belden. Although I do not have a clear picture of how I will find him, at least I now have a name.”

“Oh you've got more than a name,” Hugh laughed, “Little Miss Jody purred right in my ear what I wanted to know. Miss Abby doesn't have the best of memories after you put a bit of sherry down that pretty throat but Jody's got a bit more of her wits after a drink. Mr. Belden, Benny's grandfather, owns a farm in Putnam near Hazen Hill. Shouldn't be but a few hours ride from town to the north if you're itching to find him.”

“Brilliant,” Edwin laughed, “Wonderful. I shall send a note straight away. If I hear word that he is there, I will go to find him but I care not to get my hopes up.” The sorrow in Cyril's voice when he had lamented at what he might find if he searched for the young boxer was foremost in his mind. He was nearly just as afraid of just the same thing. There was, nevertheless, nothing to lose in the attempt.

Hugh made a slight bow. “Consider me your partner in the endeavor, Mr. Penberth. I'll deliver the note myself if you'll permit it and I'll be certain to inform you if I manage to catch a glimpse of the slippery _Fox._ ”

“Perhaps,” Edwin noted, “It would be prudent for me to take you home first...perhaps for you to change your clothes. It would not do for you to...”

“Ah,” Hugh interrupted, looking down at himself. “I do smell a bit like I've been knocking around, don't I?” He winked at the Beta and bit his bottom lip suggestively. “Hell of a quest you're on, Penberth.”

To that, he had to agree. Before he'd met Cyril, he'd never thought in a thousand years that he would have stepped foot into the basement of a tavern where an illegal fighting ring operated. Not only that, but he was having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that he was standing in the kitchen of a rather large whorehouse in New York, of all places, looking for a strange Omega. He was _mated_ and his life was certainly getting more and more out of sorts by the day, laying waste to every thought that he could have continued his comfortable and predictable existence as the de facto estate manager for his father. Life with Cyril Muir was going to be anything but predictable.

He couldn't help but smile like an absolute madman when he took Hugh outside of Miss Molly's brothel and wandered down the street listening to him chatter about how he'd gotten Jody to speak to him coherently. After all, there was really only one thought that kept floating around in Edwin's head.

_Life with Cyril Muir was going to be extraordinary._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more than one way to skin a cat.


	18. Chapter 18

Edwin was looking uncommonly chipper when Cyril found him sitting in the library of the hotel with a book in his hand and a cup of tea against his lips. He sipped absentmindedly, engrossed in whatever he was reading while Cyril watched him from the doorway. He seemed entirely unmoved by the way several Alphas were giving him a wide berth, chattering softly amongst themselves while every so often they glanced in his direction, the Beta somehow, and for some _reason_ , giving them cause to be roused. He strolled into the room, attracting their attention, their necks craning to get a good look at the Omega in their midst. Their chatter grew only louder when he made his way to Edwin's side, drawing the Beta from his book and causing him to lower his teacup to its corresponding saucer on the side table.

“You're disrupting the Alphas,” Cyril mentioned softly, his hands behind his back.

His mate grinned. “That would be because I smell like a brothel.”

Cyril gave an amused frown. “Hugh took you to a cathouse?”

“Hugh took me to several strange places today. I think I met more Omegas than I've seen in my entire life. I supposed that since I'm your mate and you wouldn't mind, I could smell like whatever I wanted to, Alphas be damned.”

The boxer smirked. “I'll have to agree with that statement, husband. Although I may subject you with a bit of an _inspection_ to make certain that you haven't been taking liberties with any of the _wares_ you may have been introduced to.”

Edwin lifted a brow. “Oh, I daresay I will look forward to any sort of inspection you care to administer, Omega. Perhaps my beloved would help me bathe?”

Cyril chuckled, offering him a hand which he took willingly while the two of them retreated to their room after requesting a bath. When they were safe inside the suite and the tub and water had been delivered, he pulled Edwin's gloves off first before he methodically moved to undress his unusually tall mate. Although it was not quite uncommon for him to behold his mate nude, the boxer was still somewhat giddy about the prospect of rendering him such, letting his fingertips brush over bared flesh while he slipped each article of clothing from Edwin's body.

He loved this Beta. It was a concept that had seemed so foreign to him before but now, when he was in the thick of it, he had to admit it to more than just his mate. He had to admit it to himself. Despite all that he had failed with sexually, he had developed something of a bond with his mate already—a bizarre idea, to be sure. There was no such thing as a _bond_ with a Beta.

_It doesn't make sense._

Even as he had the thought, he was pushing his lips against Edwin's chest, trailing saliva-ladened, open-mouth kisses against his skin until he could take the Beta's soft, flat nipple into his mouth, suckling and tugging over it until he had drawn a deep groan from his lover's throat and the nub had hardened into a peak. Wearing not a stitch of clothes, Edwin allowed himself to be guided by Cyril's touch to the tub. He played with Edwin's hair and made certain to soap him liberally, setting aside some time to rub his fingers deep into the Beta's shoulders, pleased by the pleasured sighs he managed to create by doing so.

“You are an absolute treasure, my Omega,” Edwin breathed, tilting his head back to lazily look into Cyril's eyes. “I should be returning the favor. After all, it is you who worked all day and I who merely scuttled about town with your friend.”

“Ah,” Cyril grinned, “But it is you who need to wash away all the residual scents from your adventures so that I may claim you with mine alone.”

“Thoughtful of you,” Edwin murmured, “but the tub is rather large...” His hand eased Cyril around the side of the tub and he reached upward, clumsily starting the process of undressing the Omega, a course that was finished by Cyril himself.

“You wish for me to overflow the water onto the carpet by getting into the tub with you,” Cyril stated plainly.

The Beta looked around himself at the water line. “Just your feet then, come. On either side of me.”

He frowned, unsure of his mate's intent. Standing over Edwin while he sat in the tub seemed odd and useless as an endeavor. He would never be able to be cleaned in such a way. Befuddled, he stepped into the tub and stared down at Edwin with his head tilted and his frown still firmly in place. “How do you expect to wash me in such a position?”

“Did I say anything about washing you?” Edwin asked.

Cyril felt his face grow hot and his body jolt when his mate's gentle fingers had come over him, lifting him and tugging gently until the whole of his hardening length was being tenderly sucked by his attentive and ever-more-skilled lover. Understanding what Edwin had been intending was rolled over by the appreciation of what he was currently doing and Cyril couldn't help but bury his fingers into Edwin's blonde hair, grasping and urging the Beta to continue with his firm grip. He had not allowed for this since his heat and he was seeing how wrong he had been to deny himself such a singularly potent sort of pleasure. Perhaps, he thought while he gave little gasps of want, he had been so testy in recent days because he had walled himself off so suddenly.

_It's not Edwin's fault that you're broken. You've been punishing him._

He knew those tumbling thoughts were right. Edwin wanted one thing. To give Cyril these numbing tingles in his spine, these sinful pleasures, those warm and sated nights between their sheets. How could he have been so haughty to believe that he was only punishing himself by refusing the attentions that Edwin had so wished to lavish upon him? How could he have been so obtuse? He let his head fall backwards while he sucked in his breath through his teeth, closing his eyes and letting the wet, erotic sensations spark through him, forcing tremors and shivers into his muscles while his breath came in increasingly shorter bursts. The feeling of Edwin's trailing fingers running lightly over his skin on the backs of his thighs forced a mewl to well up from his stomach. Edwin inched his fingers upward while he bobbed his head back and forth, teasing over Cyril's member with strategic strokes while his hands came to gently cup where the Omega's thighs ended and his ass began, his fingertips courageously blazing trails that led to the intensely sensitive flesh between his entrance and his _tackle_.

He didn't have the time to warn his lover not to become too adventurous as he had cringed with his release almost as soon as the first touch was committed, his fingers pulling hard at Edwin's hair while he jerked and cried out with that overwhelming wave of delight. He looked downward over the planes of his body to find Edwin staring up at him with a smug expression, waiting until Cyril was fully focused on him before he visibly swallowed what the boxer had released into his mouth.

“You are an absolute barbarian,” Cyril laughed while he moved to get out of the tub, finding Edwin's towel and handing it to him so his mate could remove himself from the cooling water. “I did manage to have a few meetings today that I believe you will find interesting and I've had their separate account ledgers placed at the desk. The kitchen is run by a very, _very_ efficient Alpha named Tilly and I got the distinct impression that she, in no uncertain terms, dislikes Hamlin to the point of mutiny. The bar manager doesn't seem to like him but, as a Beta, he shows it more...”

Edwin smirked while he dried himself off with the fluffy cream-colored towel. “Subversively?”

Cyril couldn't help but chuckle. “I suppose that is the term. It seems that Hamlin has not made himself very popular but no one has cared enough about it to state the reasoning to me properly. They must assume that a known evil is better than an unknown one and they are perhaps not keen on an Omega finding them a suitable replacement if it were to come to that. Have you found anything strange in the accounts?”

Edwin shrugged. “There are some odd numbers here or there. His estimates for some of the renovations seem a tad high but since I am not well-versed in the rate of the American dollar and its spending power, I am at the mercy of an outsider perspective. You may have to take a look; I've marked the pages.”

Still naked, Cyril moved to the desk and flipped open the large ledger, running his finger down the page until he could frown at the numbers. He flipped to the next marked page and then the next and the next after that.

“Are they quite odd or was it just my imaginings?”

“Oh no,” Cyril shook his head. “It was not your imaginings. These numbers are highly irregular. It would perhaps be prudent to hire a man that could look into Mr. Hamlin's personal accounts.”

Edwin lifted his brows, “Gracious, have I stumbled upon something of merit?”

Cyril snickered. “You were your father's estate manager. No vendor in England would have dared attempt to bribe you in order to swindle your own estate. Although we cannot be certain, it could be that Mr. Hamlin could have been taking bribes while signing off on these renovations. Some of these companies are run by...” He tilted his head back and forth, looking for the word that was on the tip of his tongue. “... _unscrupulous_ characters.”

His Beta loomed over him, bending down slightly to push a probing nose against Cyril's hair just near his ear. “May I touch you, my Omega?”

“You have not touched me enough for tonight?”

Edwin whispered into his ear, causing a rash of goosebumps to rise over his entire body. “Never enough.”

“Very well,” he chuckled, gasping when he felt those warm hands curve about his ribs, sliding upwards until his fingers could pinch and tug against the pink peaks of his nipples. He was gently pushed back against the hard, steel length of Edwin's body and he felt his cheeks grow warm at the persistent prodding just below the small of his back. “Oh,” he sighed, breathless. “I suppose I have been quite remiss at my duties for you, husband.”

“Spare your mind,” Edwin pleaded, taking his hands from Cyril's chest and running them over his shoulders and down to his defined biceps. “May I ask something of you, my mate?”

“Anything,” Cyril groaned.

“May I place your hands?”

“My hands?”

Edwin reached around to either side of him and lightly touched the edge of the desk. Cyril mimicked him, flattening his palms over the teak and leaning forward, his brain edging over whatever Edwin's intentions could have possibly been. He had already been mistaken once tonight. A second time would render him quite cross at himself. The Beta ran his fingertips down Cyril's ribs, the touch lighting a fire in the Omega's stomach.

“You are going to hire a man?” Edwin asked, scattering Cyril's thoughts into a brisk wind. “To investigate your manager?” His lips pressed between Cyril's shoulder blades.

“He was...he was likely supposing that the numbers could have been rightfully explained. I will hire a man to look into it and likely I will...” he gave a light gasp at the way Edwin's arms came around him in an embrace, his tongue tracing a pattern against his back while that insistent _presence_ nestled against the base of his spine. “I will consult my father on a course. If I must confront him, it is likely that I would be forced to stay in New York until the investigation is completed.”

His mate's breath was hot on his back. “I shall stay with you until your mission is completed, however long that may be.” He kissed downward, each breath, each sigh, each touch a fire over Cyril's flesh. It was not long before he felt Edwin's hands caressing his thighs while the Beta knelt behind him.

“Eh-Edwin!” he gasped when he felt the dip of his mate's tongue against his tailbone.

“May I ask something of you, my Omega?”

“What is it?” he mumbled, unsure of how he was to answer any question in such a predicament.

His mate's thumbs gently parted him and he arched his back to _present_ , as if he were some sort of fresh-faced lad again. The idea had him flushing to his toes. Edwin's breath tickled against his tight opening and he felt himself squirm while shivers ran through his shoulders. He nearly forgot the Beta was even going to speak to him again until he heard that calm passive tone against his ears again.

“I would ask that you keep your hands on the desk. While I pleasure you. You are not trapped save from your own obligation. Will you consent?”

“I...” he paused, uncertain. He was _not_ trapped. “I...consent.” His truest concern was not in what Edwin was going to do to him—he had a fair idea of it—it was in how he was supposed to keep his hands on the desk while he _did it._ He was not disappointed when he was forced to take in a stuttering breath as his mate's curious tongue flattened over his exposed entrance but, as he thought, it was difficult for him to focus on keeping his palms against the hardwood while blood flooded to his groin, perking his already-fluffed cock into erection. “Ed-Edwin...you are to test me mightily.”

His mate did not respond but merely hummed while his tongue dipped and laved, wet and sensual kisses against him sending tremors through his thighs and belly, inciting desperate yelps while his body arched and strained.

_Your hands, Cyril. Keep them on the desk. No matter what._

He was shaking, his manhood tight and full and heavy between his legs, aching for his mate's hand and his body clenching and unclenching over and over, searching in vain to tighten around a welcome invading force. His fingers were curling over the teak.

“Edwin, please. Touch me,” he begged, closing his eyes in the hopes that the Beta would take mercy upon him. There was no reason to think that he wouldn't, Edwin was not usually an unpredictable lover. In fact, that was the true beauty of Betas and especially _his_ Beta—it was not challenging to infer their intentions. At least...not normally. He did concede that tonight, he was having a more difficult time of it. He would have to concede that point even further when his mate backed off a slight bit and replaced his tongue with the gentle pad of his fingertip, the slicked digit running the tight circle of his rim in a delicate singular stroke. The brushing tease was not a probing gesture but nevertheless sent a flutter of worry through Cyril's chest. “Edwin?”

“Your hands, little Omega,” he quietly reminded, leading the boxer to lean forward again, his palm flattening once more. “That's my Cyril.” With that, he buried his face again, sucking and licking over the Omega's tender hole, that disquieting tongue softly pressing and exploring with every burst forth.

 _Hands on the desk. That's not too much to ask. It's a reasonable request. It's probably to stop you from ripping all his hair out when he makes you come. And he_ will _make you come, Cyril._

When he backed off again, his fingertip was expected and Cyril's entire focus was pinpointed to its touch. The Beta's voice remained calm and steady.

“I know you did not think it ideal to spend the course of your next heat in New York. Your father does have a house here, does he not? Perhaps we should consider more comfortable lodging if we are to stay for any length of time. I cannot imagine you would wish to spend your heat in the hotel, even if it is so luxurious.”

How could he be so nonchalant?! Cyril let go of a loose moan before he breathed out his reply. “You...you're right. If I am to...to spend any length of time here with you, it would be preferable to do so at the— _ah!_ ” He stiffened and his eyes flew open while the last of his words were lost. Edwin had not only taken Cyril's length in his hand and begun stroking, he had also plunged that slippery teasing finger deep beyond the Omega's barrier.

“I suppose,” Edwin continued, as if nothing untoward had happened at all, “That we should hope the man you hire to inspect our Mr. Hamlin is quick with his work but if we are forced to stay it is of no concern to me. I am fully at your disposal, as you well know.”

His mate's words were jumbling in his head but he did manage to put them together as the Beta was speaking, their meaning coming to him like the pieces of some kind of quaint and curious puzzle. For only a moment, he lifted his shaking hands from the desk before he placed them softly back down, pressing the heels of his palms firmly against the wood. He was _not_ trapped and he recognized that he could not speak—he could only give out strange and staggered moans while Edwin's hand stroked over his hot manhood, tugging between his legs while his wayward finger remained deep but motionless inside him.

“Alright, Cyril?” his mate inquired. He would have expected at least a shred of smugness in the words but there was none, only that placid tone of query that demonstrated his enormous compassion.

Cyril was at a loss, letting out only a long stuttering groan with his trembling lower jaw.

“I'm afraid that does not tell me much, my beloved. If you'd like me to continue along this course, I should like to hear it from your lips.” His hand was still stroking in long, slow movements and the statement was clearly _not_ in reference to the attention he was giving the Omega's member.

_Hands. Hands on the desk. Remember. Hands. On. The. Desk._

“Yuh...” he gulped. “Ye-es. P-please.” He wanted this. He wanted Edwin to touch that place inside him that would make him scream with pleasure. He was so _close_. He was just one bit of pressure away from Cyril screaming to the heavens and he'd made it this far without...without... He stared down at his hands, his fingers arching. Before he could think any further, he was blessedly interrupted when his mate began to move his hands, _both_ of them. “Oh _God_ ,” he howled, pushing back and arching when the Beta managed to curl that searching digit, brushing _exactly_ where Cyril needed him most. “Edwin,” he breathed. “Edwin, please. You can't...you can't tuh-tease me...”

“I hardly think you need much more than this, my love. As much as you may wish for it, I think this is as far as I'm willing to push you. At least for tonight. You know not how trying it has been to see you struggle with this.” He was so damnably calm, even as he was torturing his poor Omega, Cyril thought. “In fact, I took quite the risk and I'm certain you agree. Take care to keep your hands on the desk, my love.”

He hadn't even noticed that is palms had been slipping toward the edge and he pushed them further forward even while he was gasping with every thrust, his hips jerking and tilting in a silent plea for _more_. How could his mate be so cruel? Finally—finally—he had managed to breach that wall and this was all he was going to get? He wanted Edwin _completely._ Foremost, he wanted to determine how the Beta had known such a strategy would work and second, he wanted it to work _entirely_. He wanted to feel his mate _inside him_.

“P-please, Edwin. I want...” He could have sobbed. “I want you.”

“I know, my love,” his Beta sighed. As if in response, he slowly eased another of his fingers inside, lending Cyril toward a soft shout as he quickened his pace, his curled fingers sending explosions into the Omega's vision while Cyril's arms and knees trembled under his weight.

His release came to him with a hard and irrepressible grunt while his eyes rolled back and a single string of saliva strung its way between his lips and the teak below him. He was honestly amazed that he was able to hold himself up with how weak he felt in that moment and Edwin must have known it for he found himself embraced and tenderly held while he was pulled backwards, limp in the Beta's arms as he sat back on the soft carpet, his head resting back on his mate's shoulder. He was panting, his groin practically aching with how over-stimulated he felt.

“Oh...” he sighed, swallowing. The world was starting to fall back into place around him and he lifted one hand to feel the steel grip of his lover's arms around him. “Oh.”

“I apologize for not asking you first but you must understand, Hugh was most adamant that you be unaware of my intention or you would over-think it.”

_Hugh! That meddling tosser._

Cyril tilted his head to gaze up into Edwin's dazzling green eyes. “He's a sour cat, you know. And Irish to boot.”

Edwin laughed, the force of it shaking Cyril as he leaned on his mate's chest. “Oh you may be sore about it but Hugh told me all about your nights with him at his flat, little one.” He sounded perfectly amused and it pricked at Cyril's patience. “To bed, my mate. I've done my best for you tonight and you've got meetings in the morning.”

Cyril groaned when he was lifted as if a child in the strong Beta's arms. He was tucked into bed, his head propped by the soft pillows when he realized that his mate was pulling on a robe. He frowned. “You will not hold me, Beta?”

Edwin gave pause. “I had a few more pages of the ledgers to look over but if you wish for me to hold you, I shall wait to inspect them until the morning.”

“Yes,” Cyril sighed. “They will wait. I want my mate.”

“Mmm,” Edwin smiled, shedding the robe. “Like a spoiled child, you are, Mr. Muir.”

“Completely,” he agreed, satisfied only when he was snuggled tight against his husband's chest. As he allowed his eyes to close, soaking in Edwin's warmth, he silently celebrated the small success in intimacy. Edwin was most likely correct in assuming that he had reached the possible limit for the encounter but he still wondered. _Was it possible to move further?_ Of course it was, he corrected. Of _course_ it was.

_With him...anything is possible._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I somehow see light bondage in their future...though not in this fic, unfortunately?
> 
> [[For reference, the image that used to be in this chapter has been moved to Chapter 7.]]


	19. Chapter 19

Hugh was munching on a small piece of toast when Edwin found him the next morning in the lobby of the hotel. He looked even scrappier than he had the previous day, his cravat missing and his lovely Omega scent wafting through the air and setting the loitering Alphas on edge. Edwin cleared his throat to get the boxer's attention and, as usual, the shorter man was in rare form.

“Can you believe these bleedin' sods? Toast! Without any butter even! I told the bugger you was me friend and what's he do? He gives me a bloody piece of toast with a roll of his beady little eyes!”

He scratched the back of his head and turned to the nearest bellhop, the Beta he found clearly disturbed by the overtly gruff Omega boxer. “Will you please fetch a proper breakfast for Mr. Hugh? We will be in the dining room, thank you.” With that taken care of, he led Hugh into the large carpeted room that boasted several huge glittering chandeliers that glowed constantly with light over round tables set with white cloths and orchid centerpieces. The display was lavish and immaculate, constantly fretted over by dozens of servants while they flitted about taking orders for breakfast by hungry guests who had not wished to stay in their rooms to dine.

Once Hugh was settled into one of the wooden chairs, he passed a hand through his hair and his frown eased. “Might swell of ye, Penberth. I tell yea what I found out after givin' up your note and I do it only 'cause I like Cyril so much, alright?”

Befuddled by the Irishman's quick words, Edwin only nodded.

Hugh pulled a folded square of parchment from his waistcoat pocket and handed it over. “The family would be right fine with ya payin' 'em a visit any time you'd care to come. They were near droolin' o'er the idea of a future Baron on their step, you know. Small towns and the like are always lookin' for a reason to feel good about themselves. O'course the Beldens need a bit to feel good about, aye.” He paused, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his breakfast set in front of him. A full plate of eggs, sausages, and a small stack of hot cakes. His whisper forced a decent chuckle from the Beta. “ _Bloody right._ ” After he'd set himself up with his utensils, he seemed to remember where he was. “Right. Well...as it happens, the Beldens are far in debt. Their farm is profitable enough but there was a bad harvest a few years back and the blasted weasel who holds their debts has been increasing his interests so they'll constantly be under his thumb.” He shoved a bit of egg in his mouth but spoke around it. “The barkeep at the near tavern said Belden had paid the whole of the lien months ago and if it hadn't been for the interest charged, he would have been free and clear.”

“You found all of this out just by speaking to barkeep?”

Hugh stared at him while he shoveled more food into his mouth. Swallowing, he shrugged. “O'course, Penberth. How do you find anything out if you don't talk to the man who's heard it all?”

Conceding to the point, he opened the little square of parchment and read the spidery script. He was welcome at any time. “And Benjamin? Is he there?”

“I didn't see him when I was there but I asked me man if George had 'imself any sons. Made it sound like I was lookin' for an Alpha.” He passed Edwin a wink. “He said all his sons were off and married and his only grandson was an Omega. _Uncommon_ sort, he said. Said I reminded him of 'im. Must be our Benny.”

“Must be,” Edwin mused. “Do you happen to know the name of the man who holds the debt?”

The cheeky Omega tossed him another wink.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon by the time he emerged from the coach in the drive of the Belden farm, his boots crunching over the stone and dirt and his nose filled with the smells of animals and freshly tilled earth. He straightened his waistcoat and jacket, thankful for the light material in the summer heat as he made his way to the door.

He did not quite make it before it was opened by a young female Omega with her nose smudged by soot. Her dress was plain and covered by an apron, her hair pulled back into an untidy bun on the top of her head. When she spoke, her voice very much reminded him of the sweet debutante-looking prostitute—Miss Abigail.

“My Lord! That is!” Her light blue eyes appeared panicked. “You _are_ him, aren't you?” She gave a fumbling curtsy. “I am sorry, my Lord. We aren't used to...to _fin_ _e_ company. Please. I...I...there is a...a seat in the...the parlor...” Her scent was a jumble of nerves and his protective urge was suddenly in full swing.

“Little miss,” he crooned softly. “Fear not. I am not quite a Baron as yet and you may simply call me Mr. Penberth, if you will.”

She sighed, a bit of relief passing through her while she led him to a cozy and organized room with a fire in the hearth. The furniture was shabby and needed updating, the carpet and curtains both embarrassingly faded, but, he noted, there were plenty of bookshelves and they were all full—a tidbit he found encouraging.

“I will fetch my grandfather. He will be most pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Penberth.” She turned to go but then turned back, executing another clumsy curtsy before she stumbled out the door, forcing Edwin to bite his lips to keep his chuckles from escaping.

Left without any tea to occupy him, he waited patiently until it was time for him to stand as the presumed Mr. George Belden limped into the room, the elderly Alpha using a cane to support him as he made his way a few steps into the parlor.

“Ah,” he grunted. “A Beta taller than I am,” he chuckled. “Not even for my leg, either. Do sit down, Mr. Penberth. I apologize for Sophie. She has had no formal training and is still quite young. I would find her a tutor but...” His blue eyes were wistful while he sat himself carefully into one of the faded chairs.

Edwin changed the subject, keeping his tone soft. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Belden. I am hopeful that my associate yesterday did not in any way come off as untoward.” He _had_ found himself wondering about Hugh's conduct, at least.

“Oh no,” Belden shook his head. “I haven't much care for his kind but he was nothing but polite. I should imagine it was only too easy to find one for hire.”

Edwin cleared his throat, wishing suddenly that he had phrased his statement differently. “I found myself in the good fortune of having his favor and needn't pay him. He makes a fine living as a _boxer_ , if you will believe that. We have no such men in England, you see. Omegas as boxers was very much a foreign concept to me before just a few months back.”

Belden grunted. “Hard to conceive that any of them might take it up, isn't it? Unnatural. The little scoundrels are itching to prove something to themselves...or to anyone who'll listen.” His eyes were still wistful. “They ruin themselves with it. They come home with shame in their eyes and their hats in their hands and they beg you to take them back, broken as they are. I have a grandson who's done it, I'll have you know. Wretched little thing.”

“I know,” Edwin smiled slightly, taking Belden by surprise. “In fact your grandson is the man I came here to see, but I have some business with you first, Mr. Belden.”

The Alpha leaned forward, his hands on the head of his cane. “Business?”

“Just a small thing I'd like to tidy up with you.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out the long envelope he'd been handed by the solicitor this morning. “I happen to have recently acquired your _debts_ , Mr. Belden. Mr. Hostetter and his solicitor were quite eager to sell them off for the price I offered on them and the paperwork is all in order if you should have a mind to inspect it.”

Belden's Alpha scent was hardening with anger. “I don't want to see them, _Beta_. What care have you to hold them? The worth of it should be a paltry sum to a man like you, born with—”

“I can see that the prospect of its existence is offensive to you, Mr. Belden.” Edwin interrupted. “Then I should take care to inform you immediately that I intend to render them paid and thus obsolete. You are to be free of them. With this in mind, I should like for us to be joined by your grandson, Benjamin.”

Belden could only stare at Edwin, his jaw locked tight while he reached sightlessly to the side table and rang a small tea bell that summoned Sophie. “Girl,” the Alpha rasped. “Ben. Fetch him. Quickly.” For the few minutes that they were left alone there was a repressing silence between them, the Alpha's strong scent a mix of confusion and an odd giddiness. He barked at the Omega when he appeared in the doorway. “Benny, sit.”

Benjamin Belden, _Fox_ , was perhaps as short as Hugh and was deliciously tanned, his red hair a sunkissed strawberry blonde that reminded Edwin of his cousin, Hollow. His shirt was open at the collar and his sleeves were rolled up, the sweat clinging the material to his body and the dirt on his hands two hints as to where he had been. He was no stranger to hard work, Edwin noted, and the boy should have made a _strong_ boxer. He obediently sat at his grandfather's command and looked up at the Beta with wide blue eyes, the right of which was perpetually half-closed from the bottom—a possible remnant of a fracture.

“Good afternoon, Fox,” Edwin greeted, scenting a sudden and potent fear from the startled Omega. “You have no cause to be fearful of me. My knowledge of you stems from Miss Abigail.”

The Omega immediately leaned forward, forgetting himself for a moment when he murmured, “Abby?”

The elder Belden scowled where he sat. “And what does Benjamin have to do with your altruism, Mr. Penberth? You do not even know the creature.”

Ben remembered himself and sat back, casting his gaze to the floor with his hands resting in his lap, submissive to his ruling Alpha.

Edwin felt his brows knit at the sight. “Mr. Belden, several months ago, something terrible happened in New York. Something that made your grandson flee the city in fear for his life. It was no concern of his but his meddling could have brought the wrath of several angered Alphas upon him and his crime was an act of mercy.” He tilted his head as if to catch the Omega's eyes but Ben had closed them, his head still downward. “He quite literally breathed life back into another boxer and dragged him from the brink of death at the cost of his own future. The reason you found him at your door with shame in his eyes and his hat in his hands was not because he had _failed._ It was because he had _succeeded_ in his act of grace. It is for this reason that I shall relinquish your debts, Mr. Belden. To repay your family for what your grandson has done for me.”

Belden's eyes narrowed. “Skeptical as I may be, I will not argue against any favor you are willing to do for my family, no matter the cause. If I am to believe that you are to do such a thing as to relinquish my debt for the simple pity my grandson took upon a...a _wild dog,_ then so be it.”

Edwin felt a sudden flash of anger course through him and he noted the flare of the Alpha's nose as he scented it. Stifling the emotion, he kept his voice as placid as ever. “Not a wild dog, Mr. Belden. A very intelligent and haughty little Omega that I am proud to have claimed as my _mate_.” He turned his attention to Ben. “Had you not done what you did, Fox, I should not have been free to meet nor marry Mr. Muir, a pleasure that I have enjoyed _immensely_.”

Belden whispered to himself, his scent calming to the point almost of bashfulness. “ _Muir_...”

Ben, to his credit, managed to lift up his head, touching the lower rim of his right eye with his fingers. His soft voice was humored. “Could hardly ride with him. Only had one eye. He'd put one out, the son of a bitch. Still can't see with it well.” He seemed to laugh, the action stifled. “I wondered if he lived. Seemed like he might just fade away.”

“I'd like for you to speak with him. I know he's quite curious about you as well. Would you care to accompany me to New York? To the Muir? If you do come, I have another gift for you at the hotel. For you alone.”

The Alpha stood with the help of his cane. “Absolutely not. He is not to go anywhere alone. I will accompany him.”

“Well enough,” Edwin shrugged. “If you do not care to go tonight, I can have a coach pick you up tomorrow.”

“No,” the Alpha grunted, casting a perturbed eye over Ben's appearance. “I want the thing over and done with. Strange business, Mr. Penberth. Odd.”

He could feel his mouth flatten into a line. “I see.” There was really no wonder that Ben Belden had run away from his home to seek a future in the city. He had been blessed with a type of strength that Omegas rarely grew well into and cultivated and he'd known just where it could take him. How could he have guessed that no matter where he went, no matter what he did, he would always have an Alpha looking over his shoulder? It was something Edwin wished to remedy.

_Would that I could make every Omega's dream come true._

* * *

The ride into New York seemed longer than the ride out and the Beta clearly understood why as he was trapped in such a confined space with nothing but the conflictingly strong and stable scents of the Alpha and the Omega who had joined him, the two of them, though related, not mixing well in the slightest. By the time the door to the coach had opened and he was exposed to fresh air once again, Edwin was feeling a little green and made sure to discreetly take in long lungfuls of air after he'd escaped from the warring scents. As luck would have it, he needn't have been anxious about finding his mate as Hugh was still loitering about in the hotel's library with a book in his hand and a dish of pitted olives sitting next to him while he laid negligently on his belly atop one of the settees. The little boxer was quite eager to roll like a cat to his side, propping his head on his palm with his elbow on the settee in order to inform Edwin of Cyril's presence in the dining room for a luncheon with a few other city businessmen.

In light of this, Edwin procured a private parlor for the Alpha and his grandson, a fire stoked in the hearth and the windows opened to air out the room while they sat with their tea and a light lunch. He smirked at the manner of Belden's mutterings of Hugh's _typical_ Irish nature before he left to find his mate, striding into the dining room with as much grace and poise as he could muster.

“I say, Muir,” an Alpha mused as Edwin approached. “This must be your mate, Mr. Penberth.”

Cyril stood, turning to Edwin with a quirk of his brows. “Yes. Gentlemen,” his cheeks tinged while he spoke, “I must present to you my husband, the heir of Belcourt.” He proceeded to introduce the four Alphas with which he sat and Edwin carefully studied them as he stated their names.

“Ah yes,” the black-haired Alpha called Rickton breathed, “The silent Beta partner. Shall we expect to see you more, Mr. Penberth?”

He allowed a conciliatory smile. “I am afraid you'll have to contend moreso with the wiles of Mr. Muir; I've no mind to meddle in his affairs and he has no mind to meddle in mine. If you'll forgive me, I must only steal a moment of his time.” Turning his attention back to Cyril, he held out his gloved hand and was more than pleased when it was accepted and he guided his Omega to the side of the dining room. “Whenever you are finished, I have a small surprise waiting for you in the blue parlor.” He brushed a discreet thumb over his mate's jawline. “I hold hope that they do not cause you much nervousness, little one. Alphas are often worse in packs.”

Cyril's mouth tipped. “I appreciate your concern, Edwin. I will not keep you waiting. I can be patronized only so long before I lose my ability to speak rationally. At the least I should thank you for your ring. It has spared me their odious flattery and flirtations.”

“Ah,” he grinned. “I pray my own flattery and flirtation is not whispered about in such terms.”

“Never whispered. If you care to recall, my mate, I have told you a number of times that you are insufferable with your complimentary speech. I shall meet you in the blue parlor. I will not dally, I promise.”

It was a promise well-kept and it was only a quarter hour before Edwin saw Cyril again as he stood when the Omega entered the parlor with his regal grace fully flaunted. His shoulders squared, he did not seem taken aback at all by the presence of Mr. Belden but gave pause when his gaze landed upon Fox who stood nervously before he gave a small bow.

“Afternoon, Mr. Muir,” he mumbled.

Edwin studied Cyril closely, searching his scent for any hint beyond his curiosity. “Cyril, this is Benjamin Belden, I believe you've met. His grandfather has accompanied him to New York for the purpose of a visit with you.”

Mr. Belden cleared his throat, his Alpha scent demanding some kind of authority that Cyril clearly did not sense in the slightest, unmoved entirely by its presence. “A nice hotel, Omega.”

Edwin narrowed his eyes and wondered where his threshold should have been for holding the Belden debts indefinitely. He looked to his husband who was undaunted and unimpressed by the Alpha's impotent posturing.

Cyril lifted his chin and let his eyes wander over the parlor. “It is a nice hotel, isn't it?” After the bland statement, he walked to the tea tray and poured some into a cup for himself, sipping it while he turned around to Fox who was still standing awkwardly. “We are in the process of constructing one in London and I am hopeful that its design will be similar. I do like them, after all. I should. As they are mine.” He sipped his tea again. “I wish to speak with the young Mr. Belden alone, if you please.”

“Mr. Muir,” Belden growled, “I am his legal guardian and I believe I will stay.”

Cyril's head jerked into a haughty tilt and a tight smile formed over his lips though no frustration could be found in his scent. “Very well.” His eyes found Fox's and his scent was suddenly warmed and sweetened. “I must thank you, Benjamin and I must also apologize. It has been months and I have been afraid to find you for what I might have found to have become of you. I was frightened to find that you had suffered for your compassion and your kindness, that you had been killed for what you had done for me.” A slash of sorrow invaded Cyril's tranquil scent. “I will prostrate myself for not having found you sooner and as a token of my gratitude, I hope that you will accept a gift from me.”

Fox blinked. “No. No, please,” he said. “Your mate has already promised to forgive our debts and...” His blue eyes flitted to his grandfather and Edwin was suddenly aware of that distinct tension. The strong little Omega was already frightened of what was to become of him if his grandfather felt indebted to him. An Alpha duty-bound to gratefulness was an Alpha straining against an unwelcome obligation. It could only foster a family rot. Edwin shifted where he stood, unsure of the countermeasure.

Cyril sensed the same. “Do not exert yourself with worry. Have you any desire to travel, young Mr. Belden? London is a bit rainy but it has come to grow on me and the English countryside has gained a place in my heart, to be sure.”

The Beta gave a small start at what Cyril was leading toward. He let himself grin. “I believe there is a small tenancy that could be available at our country estate, Hollyvale, and the village would be quite welcoming for a capable working man.”

Belden growled. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Penberth?”

Cyril answered in a clipped and certain tone. “Mr. Benjamin Belden is welcome to accompany us to England. That is, if he wishes. I should also mention that upon his arrival at Hollyvale, he should be granted a small reward for his actions and that if his decision is in any way impeded by an outside party, I will be forced to take measures that will be unpleasant for all involved.”

“Is this a threat?” Belden asked, his voice slightly raised and his scent angered. “Am I to understand that you are suggesting the boy live overseas _independently_?”

Cyril shrugged one shoulder. “If you want to see it as a threat, you are free to do so. Your grandson is perfectly capable of living in our little village. There is no one there that lives alone or independently. They are all interdependent on each other and many are our tenants who are taken care of as a matter of the estate's function. I believe he would be very comfortable.”

Edwin nodded with his grin. “What say you, Fox?” he asked. “Does the prospect Muir has presented sound at all enticing?”

At first, those clear blue eyes flitted toward the Alpha but when they moved to Cyril's face, it was clear that Fox was emboldened by the suggestion, his fighter spirit floating to the surface when he gave a bashful smile. “I have never been anywhere aside from New York before. I would hardly know what to do. But...I have walked into the dark before and I cannot say I would not do it again.”

Edwin lifted his brows. “Then you will come?”

Fox nodded. “I will be grateful to you forever, Mr. Muir, Mr. Penberth.”

“None of that,” Cyril frowned, emptying his teacup. “I owe my life to you, after all.”

* * *

It was only after the two of them were again alone together, hidden for their supper in a cozy corner table within the hotel's restaurant when Edwin was able to finally get one of those niggling thoughts out of the back of his brain. While his contented Omega inspected his cut of meat to ensure its quality, he spoke.

“A wonderfully gracious thing you've done for the man, Cyril. I would never have thought of it myself. I suppose that is the society that has been impressed upon me speaking—I never would have begun to entertain the idea of separating an Omega from his ruling Alpha.”

“Society is so boring,” Cyril countered. “The rules that bind Omegas the way they do are tiresome and I have struggled with my father against them my whole life.” He sighed, looking up from his supper with softness in his eyes. “It is by sheer luck that I would have stumbled upon the only Alpha who was _not_ an Alpha at all and that he should be entirely content with the way that I am. What I must do. If I can give the Omega anything, it would be a sense of authority over his own life. That is all the boxers have ever truly wanted and yet they find that they are more successful if they are taken up by a manager. Every facet of our lives is controlled and manipulated. The system and society is designed to keep us...subservient. I cannot live that way.”

“And you will not have to,” Edwin agreed. “But if you ever need a force behind you, know that I will be here for you. To whisper in your ear of your enduring power. Speaking of, how did your meeting go?”

Cyril grinned. “Oh, once you can get past the preening that they all go through when they dine together, those four do end up getting somewhere when you speak to them. Rickton happens to be the son of the man who owns one of the companies that worked on a few of our renovations. _Those_ renovations. He's a slimy piece of dung and I don't care who knows it. He's certainly not above having swindled the Muir family while smirking to our faces and well I know it.” He took a bite of his steak and chewed thoughtfully. “My father knew a man with a detective agency in Chicago and I have sent a letter to the organization. I expect that whomever they send will be able to investigate the matter with precision and haste.”

“Oh? You _are_ efficient, Cyril. Are you to confront Hamlin or...?”

“I believe I will wait for the conclusion from the investigation and I will be stalling upon any further renovations with Rickton and his odious father. I hope you do not mind that I will be having our luggage moved to our manor here in New York. As I was unable to further my conversation with you last night...” His scent spiced with a hint of arousal. “I believe it is a prudent course to spend my next heat in a more private setting and I fear that returning to Hollyvale may be out of the question. Of course, Ben Belden will be staying in one of the suites here, as we arranged. I hope that he finds himself comfortable. I believe he expressed an interest in learning to tend the bar and Mr. Bazaretti would be more than happy to show him the ropes.”

“A useful skill, no doubt. I hope he has a set of ears on him, it seems that Hugh and others like him have a tendency to get most of their pertinent information from the barkeeps.”

“Well,” Cyril rolled his eyes, “Perhaps someone will be able to get information from Bazaretti about Hamlin's conduct as I seem to be entirely ineffective in the matter. I have far to go before any of my subordinates trust me enough to make decisions on their behalf. I think they believe I am some flighty, fluff-brained Omega, still. Is it not enough that I am my father's son? That I hold my own in every endeavor?”

Edwin covered Cyril's hand where it sat on the table, drawing his attention from his errant thoughts. “It is enough for me. You are enough. They do not yet know you, Cyril. Let them come to understand you. We will stay in New York for as long as is required for the matter to be settled and then we will take Ben and our growing pup and return to Hollyvale.”

The Omega's cheeks flushed. “Someone is quite sure of himself, isn't he?” He reached for his wine and sipped it with his broken brow popped upward toward his hairline.

“I've never been secretive about my intentions toward you, Cyril. I daresay I would be quite the liar if I said I didn't have any idea of how I should be able to hold you. Not to bring misfortune upon myself for having admitted it, but I'm confident that I'll be able to sate you if you'll be so gracious as to humor me. There is but one obstacle I have not yet worked out but I suppose one cannot know the result of an action until it has been applied.”

Cyril was giving him a skeptical stare with his wine glass still clutched in his fingers. “And this obstacle?”

Edwin snickered. “Your lust and your strength within it. I cannot wrestle you, Omega, and I cannot speak to you rationally. At least...I do not think I can. I will have to tempt you somehow and I know not quite how I am to do so.”

“Hmm,” Cyril breathed, sipping his wine with a shoulder shrugged. “Whenever you do discover what you are to do, I'm certain I will find out.” With the rim of his glass pressed against his bottom lip, he gave Edwin a meaningful look. “Whatever happens, Edwin...please know that I trust you. And...” He glanced downward and then up again. “And that I love you. Freely.”

He smiled wide. “I love you, too, Cyril. I will do my best for you. Now and always.”

With his mate's nod, he hoped he had not come off as too cocky and that he had not placed any seeds of anxiety into the soft soil of the Omega's mind. Cyril was a born winner—his entire life had been spent fighting hard in the struggle to be taken seriously, to be treated as a man of worth and integrity...a man who could get what he wanted, by force if required. In intimacy, he was uncertain and the fact pained him. It was a pain that Edwin wanted more than anything to assuage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well wow, just took care of all that with one (long) chapter; so that's nice.
> 
> Up Next: Cyril's a nervous nester.


	20. Chapter 20

They had settled entirely into his father's New York house in only a matter of two weeks. As the days progressed, Cyril was normally to be found wandering about the hotel, casually watching most of the work being done around him. A few times, he had amused himself with a bit of baking during the downtime in the hotel's kitchens, staying out of the way of the staff and providing plenty of fodder for how “odd” their employer's son truly was. Tilly had been surprised to find him flitting about in her kitchen but if she had any objections, she kept them to herself and left him be. Other times, he could be found shadowing or Bazaretti, watching them during the start of their day before he was usually called to have a round of cocktails with some of the Alpha associates his father was wont to spend time with.

It wasn't surprising that his hotel had started to become the place to have meetings for the capitalists of New York. They often asked him to join them for drinks during their meetings not because the business had anything to do with him but because his Omega fragrance could keep the riled Alphas from saying or doing anything that could have ended up bad for their ventures. Most Omegas were entirely unsuited to have a presence in such a faculty in their eyes and Cyril, as a shrewd and calculating individual, was almost casually and universally accepted as a means to this end. He accepted it and rolled with it for one reason: It was his way in. His haughty nature rivaled theirs and he often was able to interject into their proceedings with prudent suggestions, slowly but surely raising their opinions of him.

Hugh, as was his nature, was often unimpressed by Cyril's so-called “progress.”

“They still see you as an Omega. I cannot understand why ye would sit about like some pretty decoration just for the hope that ye might be able to say something they won't take to heart anyway.” The Irish boxer was sitting on Hamlin's desk while Cyril lounged in the manager's wooden chair, his head back. “You're a smart man, Cyril, you can't let them treat you like you're some kind of accessory.”

“They know enough to stroke my ego, at least,” he countered. “They can't afford to not invite me to their meetings or offer me options or services. The hotel is going to always need updates or renovations and it brings in an obscene amount of money. If they played their cards right, they would be able to get those contracts and it's me they have to impress. When it comes to the Muir, they're not above pandering to an Omega. If they hold any frustrations about having to do so, they can commiserate with each other about it, for they all will do it.”

“And if there is a man who won't? A man whose services you need?”

“Then I will leave him behind and find a man who will. We will see how many of my business partners will be loyal to me.” He flashed a small grin to his friend. “We will see how many of them will come to my rescue if I am cast as the damsel.”

“Oh,” Hugh laughed, “You tricky _devil_.”

He put his feet on the desk and crossed his arms, leaning back. “If they've a mind to appeal to my mate, I'm afraid they'll find a stone wall staring back at them. Edwin is so terribly uninterested in the hotels and I feel that if I asked him to help me, he would do so as a matter of duty only. It is not his passion.”

Hugh started. “Passion? O'course it's not his passion. He would do it just fine because his passion is _you_. I would have been hard-pressed to think of a Beta I knew with any sort of passion at all afore I met your mate.” He scratched the side of his head. “You're lucky to have found him, Cyril. An Alpha would have been awful for you. Has he a mind to his heirs?”

Cyril flattened his mouth and frowned. “I will be successful on that front. I merely have to ensure that this detective can do what Pinkerton has claimed he can and when it is finished, I will return to England. By then, I hope to be with a pup.”

Hugh was marveling at him. “And exactly how many pups are you planning to give him?”

The boxer shrugged. “I suppose as many as can be managed before my father passes.”

“And after that, you'll just avoid your mate during your heats? What kind of horrible torture is that, Cyril? If you've got a mate, you don't have to deprive yourself.”

He quirked his mouth to the side. “I can't very well be taken seriously in business without the ability to see my toes over my belly, can I?”

Hugh barked a laugh. “That codger Witherspoon hasn't been able to see his toes in at least a decade and his pup is a sloshing bit of whiskey and lamb! They take him plenty seriously even with that ridiculous nose he has too!” He was still chuckling.

He couldn't help but at least give a little snicker to Hugh's argument but before he could reply, there was a soft knock on the door and it swung open about a foot to reveal a very proper-looking man.

“Mr. Muir?”

“Yes,” he replied, taking his feet off the desk and standing to offer his hand.

The man closed the door behind himself before he shook the Omega's hand, his eyes flitting to Hugh for a second before he spoke. “I am from the agency in Chicago...”

Cyril glanced at Hugh and then back to his visitor. “Speak freely,” he requested.

From his build, it was hard to discern whether he was an Alpha or a Beta. He looked strong under his modest ensemble and his shoulders were wide but he was not quite as tall as one would expect an Alpha to be. Certainly not as tall as Edwin. His voice held no inherent Alpha edge to it but was naturally harder and authoritative. “My name is Jack Donnelly but for the sake of our investigation, I'll suggest an alias. It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Muir. I've known no other celebrated Omegas such as yourself. Your fame, or infamy, in some cases, has spread far to the west.”

“Infamy?” Cyril chuckled. “Traditionalists. Dash them all. One day I'll have a hotel in your city, Mr. Donnelly. I'll make it my personal triumph.”

The detective smiled. “I'll be your first guest, for certain.” His sharp blue eyes moved about the office. “This is the manager's office, is it not?”

Cyril grinned. He was giddy and the game had only just begun.

* * *

Over the course of just a week Donnelly had successfully been hired under Mr. Bazaretti and had quickly infiltrated the restaurant in an effort to weasel his way into the details of deception that the employees would have been unwilling to disclose to Cyril himself. He had agreed with Cyril that the other managers must have known something of pertinence and he was keen to find out what that was. Posed as a waiter, he was terribly efficient, fast in his work, and so far, he'd provided detailed reports that had amused both Cyril and Edwin as they read them before bed each night, snuggled under the sheets and counterpane together.

In the weeks after Edwin's bold gesture in their bedroom, Cyril had allowed the act with full disclosure, each time with his hands planted firmly on the headboard, his knees spread apart and his hips angled just so. The Beta was so very giving and patient that it was difficult for Cyril to imagine that his presence had ever been the source of any nervousness—but it had been. He still suffered from those damnable nightmares, waking in Edwin's arms quickly after they began, their effects not nearly so bad if it could be prevented before it had progressed. Sometimes, he was not so lucky and he was left gasping and choking, heaving against his lover desperately, still.

When his heat approached, he was careful not to mention it in a blatant manner, informing Hamlin that he would be out of town for a week and thus would be entirely unreachable. Without a thought to it, the Beta manager was likely simply happy to have a reprieve from Cyril's searching eyes. He had been carefully paying attention to his body for days, searching in vain for those small signs that his heat was approaching. He hadn't been able to pinpoint anything but the nervousness remained. Edwin wanted to put a pup inside him and he wanted to do it _this heat_.

Thoughtlessly, he paced their bedchamber as the sun slipped below the horizon. Edwin had been invited as a courtesy by some of the Alpha businessmen to have drinks at one of the local clubs that barred Omegas from attendance. Cyril had allowed it if only because he was unable to go, trusting that his mate would perform dutifully in his stead. There was a constant buzzing in his ears and he restlessly tugged at the counterpane on the large bed, throwing the soft pillows to the center of its expanse before he turned about and wandered away only to come back and arrange them there so they were not so haphazard.

Trembling, he searched the room for any of Edwin's discarded cravats or clothes that may have missed being picked up by the servants for laundering. There was nothing and what would he have done if there _had_ been something? He could not scent it.

“I'm losing my mind,” he whispered to himself as he pulled off his clothes, stuffing them carelessly into the pile of pillows while the orange light of sunset played over his skin through the window. Naked, he paced once more, dismayed to find that the time that he'd thought was an hour or more had naught been more than five minutes and he groaned, moving to the bed again to rearrange the clothes and pillows again before he climbed into his strange and irrational creation and curled into a ball on his side within it, pulling the soft pillows against him with nervous butterflies coursing in his blood.

_You're not losing your mind, Cyril. You're going into heat._

He frowned, closing his eyes and answering himself aloud, “Ah. But what is the difference?”

The door opened behind him and he propped himself up on his elbow to fully admonish whatever servant had dared enter his chamber without the courtesy of a knock but his words died in his throat when he found Edwin standing at the door with a mild smile on his face and his hands in his pockets.

“Evening, Cyril. The servants have informed me that you've shut yourself in here and you've forgotten your supper. I suppose it had to have slipped your mind under the circumstances. Are you fond of strawberries?”

His mouth was dry. “Y-yes.”

“Perfect,” he replied, his smile widening and crinkling his eyes. “I've procured some of them from the market and I thought they might provide you with a little sustenance. Perhaps a little perk. I see you've been nesting. Are you feeling warm?”

He lifted his palm to his forehead. “No...I...” He sighed through his nose, suddenly exasperated with himself and further frustrated when he noted that the feeling had stemmed from his fluctuating mood. “I'm nervous,” he admitted, plopping himself down into the pillows again.

Edwin rang the bell and met the maid who arrived at the door, giving her careful instructions before he turned back around and removed his cravat and waistcoat, letting his shirt gape at the neck while he waited for whatever provisions were coming. Cyril watched him from his spot on the bed, covering himself prudishly with his shirt so that the servants wouldn't see him in such an embarrassing state. His mate was beautiful, Edwin's hand coming up to tousle his blonde hair with a little shake of his head to dispel any tiredness that could have pooled in his consciousness. The tall Beta was enough in himself that Cyril felt his mouth starting to water; he needed no scent to become excited and thrilled alongside his anxiety.

“Cyril,” he sighed, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, “There is nothing I can say that will erase your nervousness. I can be comforted only by your insistence that you have come to trust me and provide you the comfort of reminding you of your own words. That you love me. And that you have placed your trust in me.” He paused to scent the air above Cyril, leaning gracefully over him. “You're very sweet, my love. May I touch you?”

“I am not quite...” he peered up from the pillows at his Beta, bashfully staring up into those compassionate green eyes. How could he deny such a request from his _mate_? “...yes. I...I would like to be touched.”

Edwin's warm palm rested on Cyril's calf first in a stabilizing gesture, the presence of its weight soothing him in some indescribable way. A few of the maids brought them a large bowl of strawberries along with an ewer of ice water, glasses, and several damp clothes to be used as compresses. Edwin thanked them as they left and his fingertips slid upward as the door shut, caressing the back of Cyril's knee and then his thigh, shifting the fabric of the shirt so his hand could lay beneath it, calming the Omega as it stayed.

“Edwin?” he asked softly, mumbled against the pillows.

“Yes?”

He swallowed, his eyes fixing on the strawberries, red and plump where they sat in the bowl on the bedside table. “Will you take me now? Before I've lost my sense?”

“Is that what you wish?” The blonde tilted his head, his expression passive. “I understand the sentiment, little one. You are more in control of yourself...it must make things much easier.” He took one of the strawberries from the bowl and held it out.

Cyril lifted himself with his arms and bit the sweet, ripe fruit in half, satisfied to watch Edwin pop the rest of it into his mouth. He swallowed and nodded. “It is what I wish. I do not know how close I am to losing myself. I trust you.”

“Alright, Cyril. May I place your hands?”

Without responding, he brought himself up to his knees and put his hands on the headboard, arching his back to present himself for his mate, nervous but eager at least. The anticipation of what was to come was enough to stiffen him. Edwin came behind him and placed another strawberry at his lips which he took into his mouth, having to moan around it when he felt the Beta kiss his way down his spine until his tongue was liberally spreading saliva over Cyril's most tender secret. Even with his taste so profoundly altered by his lack of scent, the sweetness of a strawberry was enough to tingle over his tongue and he let it slide down his throat before he gasped at the way Edwin's fingers opened him, his toes curling at the familiar sensation.

“Cyril,” Edwin whispered near to his ear, placing soft kisses against the soft skin of his throat. “You're so hard for me. Tell me what you want.”

He breathed and gasped, keening at Edwin's thrusting fingers and the rhythmic motion of his wrist, his mewls and cries blending together while he rocked his hips uselessly. “Oh...oh...” He gritted his teeth, his words tumbling out of his mouth clumsily. “I want...I want you. I want _you_.” He was surprised to find another strawberry against his lips and he took it willingly. “Mmm,” he moaned, speaking with his mouth full. “I want you...I want you to...come inside me...”

“May I place your hands, my Omega?”

Cyril puzzled, his head getting fuzzy while he stared at his already-placed hands that were firmly gripping the headboard. Exactly where he thought they were supposed to be. “Place?” he asked.

“Yes,” Edwin responded, tickling his tongue over Cyril's ear. “May I place your hands, my beloved?”

“Yes?”

He watched, bewildered as his Beta withdrew from him and plucked his hands from the headboard to turn him, gently moving him toward the center of the bed, among the pillows he'd gathered. He was still on his knees but straight up, facing his mate, his manhood jutting and stiff. He watched Edwin strip off his clothes, rendering himself nude before he gently took Cyril's elbows and somehow guided his hands to the Beta's shoulders.

Edwin whispered to him, leaning forward to claim a gentle kiss. “Will you keep them there for me, beloved? You are not trapped. Do you consent?”

He flitted his eyes between his hands and then lifted his eyes to Edwin's. He was _not_ trapped. He licked his lips.

_I trust him._

“I consent.”

Edwin brought his hand to Cyril's back, splaying his fingers to support him as he leaned forward, easing Cyril back until he was forced to sit and then adjust to spread his legs to take Edwin between them, his body laid back onto the fluffy white pillows while his inner thighs cradled his husband's hips. The Omega could feel his heart beating hard, hammering in his chest as he realized that he was to be taken in such an _uncommon_ position. Something he could only ever recall having done to the female courtesans at Molly's. It was most certainly not something that had ever been done to _him_ before.

Most likely scenting his nervousness, Edwin reached for another strawberry and tucked half of it between Cyril's lips, placing his mouth over the other half and splitting it with his kiss, taking the moment of distraction to press the head of his length against Cyril's tight opening.

“Mmm,” Cyril protested, a slight panic welling in his gut.

Edwin quickly swallowed his half of the berry and backed off while Cyril's fingers dug into his shoulders. “It's alright,” he whispered, leaning on his forearms to raise himself above Cyril's body, shifting to press down over the Omega's still-hard member, gently bowing his spine to rub against him. The Beta placed a sweet kiss at Cyril's hairline while he shushed softly. “It's alright. It's just me. It's just your Edwin.”

Frustrated, Cyril slammed his feet down on either side of the Beta and pressed his head back hard into the pillows. “ _Goddamn it!_ ” He growled and let out a pained half-yell. “ _Take_ me, Edwin. Just _do it._ ” His haze was beginning to come over him in full and he could feel heat in his blood but he wasn't sure if it was from the force of his anger or the force of nature. “I cannot trust myself!” he cried out, shutting his eyes against his mate's concerned gaze. “I need you to just do it. I need you to come inside me and have it be done!”

“Shhhhh...”

“Do not _shush_ me, you insufferable man! _Rut_ me!”

Edwin's unruffled tone did not change. “Calm yourself, Cyril.” He wet two of his fingers and eased his hand between their bodies, circling the Omega's already-wet rim with those two fingers. “I'm not going to take you while you're upset. Heat or not, you are too important to me for sloppiness. I will give you what you want. Tonight. But you cannot be angry when I do it.”

He felt his frustration begin to melt when he focused on the two fingers that were running over his entrance, petting and circling in a teasing manner, tickling over his flesh with small pushes that just barely dipped inside him before they backed off again. He ached to be filled.

“What sort of names did you have in mind?” Edwin asked, placing a short but meaningful kiss over his Omega's lips. “For our pup.”

Cyril blinked, the buzzing in his ears intensifying with every brush of Edwin's fingers. “I...I have not given it much thought. I suppose if it is a boy...I should like to name him after either of our fathers. Perhaps we shall have two boys...”

Edwin nodded slightly, shifting over him to be more comfortable between his legs. “Two boys would be lovely. My father would no doubt appreciate a namesake.”

“If we were to have a girl...” Cyril licked his lips and gently shook his head, feeling the rest of his frustration dissipate. “I have always loved the name Violet. She would make a lovely debutante...”

“So would our sons.”

Cyril was led toward a small chuckle. “You would hope for an Omega son? What sort of Baron are you? You do not assume your son should be your heir? A strong Alpha?”

“Why not a strong Omega? He would have a brilliant example and if you have forgotten, _you_ will also require an heir for your fortunes. Could you not bequeath it to your Omega son the way your father has to you?”

He scoffed, “Well of _course_ I—ah! _Ah!_ ” He drew up, his body jerking hard as he brought himself to rise on his elbows, his fingers clutching the pillows beside him as he forced Edwin to rear back only slightly, pushing the cock that had suddenly been sheathed within him only deeper. “ _Edwin!_ ” It was half horrified and half indignant, his shoulders shaking with every tremble and shiver that passed through him at the brush against that _spot_ inside him that brought him such pleasure.

The Beta spoke again as if nothing remiss had occurred at all. “Your hands, little Omega,” he reminded.

“My hands?!” Cyril asked, staring between their bodies where Edwin was pressed against him, _buried inside him._ He was large but not overly so, stretching Cyril to accommodate his length and girth which, at the beginning of his heat, was not difficult at all. He was _impaled_ by the Beta, that itching and tickling voice inside him beginning to grow louder in its insistence that he tell Edwin to buck hard into him.

“Would you like a strawberry, Cyril?”

“ _No_. I would like...I...you just...” He could only give a slight, aborted jerk of his head. “I _would like_ to...” He was at a loss and as he stared into those shining green eyes he relaxed, easing himself down again into the soft pillows and placing his hands again upon his mate's shoulders.

Edwin drew down and pressed his lips against Cyril's, the slight shift of his body enough to cause the Omega to groan into his mouth. The kiss was not forceful but was demanding in a slow and heavy pattern of wet bursts that betrayed Edwin's true and heartfelt passion. His determination to hold and console and share with his Omega lover put a specific sort of aching into Cyril's chest that he could not ignore and he felt breathless with his desperate love for his Beta.

Without allowing Edwin to back away from the sets of ardent kisses, Cyril rocked his hips in a soft plea that was answered by the Beta's gentle push forward that forced a sigh from the Omega's throat, captured by Edwin's next searching kiss. Their first foray into making love was at first slow, gradually increasing in tempo with every patient and careful thrust of his mate's hips until the two of them had set a steady pace, Cyril's breathy groans and delighted sighs surrounding the ever-sensual meetings of their lips that pulled his heated haze around him like a heavy quilt. He could feel himself nearing that welcome abyss of pleasure and he begged against his lover's lips.

“Edwin,” he breathed, “ _Please_. Touch me.”

The request was answered readily by his generous mate and he cried out when he was held and stroked, his release pounding through him while his body clenched around Edwin's hard length, drawing the Beta through each pulse and casting upon him his own climax.

“Cyril!” his mate grunted, pressing his forehead down upon the pillows while his body twitched in orgasm. They panted together and Edwin remained within him, as deep as he could be. The Beta regained his wits fairly quickly. “I would stay like this for a small time. You've started leaking around me and I do not wish for all of my seed to be wasted if you are to pour it all out with your—”

Cyril covered Edwin's mouth with a cupped hand. “You may stay wherever you wish, Beta. But give me a strawberry if you are to keep me under you.”

He did as he was bade, popping the red, juicy fruit into Cyril's mouth. “I apologize for taking you off guard. It was a risk and I understand it could have ended very poorly for us.” Cyril felt his lips against his throat, his breath cascading over his heated skin. “I love you so very much, Omega. I would never hurt you intentionally. God, you smell so sweet. I can only imagine that you must be like opium for an Alpha. Addicting and alluring. Perhaps you shall become so for me.”

“I can only thank the stars that you do not become crazed by an Omega's heat scent,” Cyril sighed. “And that there is no such thing for you as a rut. Your friend, Halwill. He is a very observant man. He...he knew I could not bear an Alpha. His suggestion...that I marry you. It was well done of him.”

“Indeed,” Edwin agreed. “Perceptive of him. Meddlesome too,” he added humorously.

Cyril felt a bit of his slick seep from around Edwin's softening member and, though grateful that there was no knot to endure, lamented that there _was_ a purpose for the thing that trapped an Alpha to their Omega. Conception could prove tricky if he were to lose Edwin's spend to the bedsheets. Considering his options, he lifted his legs and hooked his ankles behind the Beta's back, doing his best to create enough movement between them to stimulate his mate, coaxing him until he felt the man stiffen again.

“Mm,” Edwin groaned, “You are going to run me straight into my grave, I swear it.” He nuzzled Cyril cheek with clear affection. “Do you want to hear about my meeting?”

“Oh,” Cyril grinned. “Did you manage to squeeze a few hints out to Rickton?”

Edwin chuckled. “You know, I've not much experience in subterfuge but I have _plenty_ of experience in subtlety. I am certain that Hamlin will be receiving a note from him in the coming days about certain renovations that I have hinted toward.”

“Ah. He will not be so bold as to take a kickback while I am present. If that is what is required, perhaps we will have to remain hidden for a small time.”

“They are quite small renovations. If he were quick about it, he could have them done before you were recovered from your heat.” Edwin nibbled on Cyril's earlobe, moving against him to stimulate his arousal. “I daresay your investigator could have his work cut out for him if Rickton and Hamlin truly are in cahoots.”

“I look forward to all of it. Every disgusting little detail,” Cyril growled, clenching his muscles around Edwin's manhood, relishing the way the Beta tossed his head back with a pleased gasp. “Now. I'm ready for you to help me again, lover, and this time...yes. I would like a strawberry.”

Edwin grabbed two from the bowl, feeding one to the Omega beneath him and popping one into his own mouth. Satisfied, Cyril groaned around the fruit while the Beta began pounding into him, the sound of their skin slapping together along with their exultant sighs lulling the small boxer into a hazy and overheated trance of naught but sheer gratification.

* * *

Only once had he become panicked during the course of his heat and only twice did he wake in a fevered, horrible dream. At every twist and turn, his Edwin was there for him, to hold him as he gasped or wept, his emotions galloping through him as the ache in his body screamed as a terrible and lustful wraith. When he was in better spirits, he allowed for many types of pleasure to be bestowed upon him but true penetration was limited and as his heat dwindled, he grew nervous of his chances for conception. He wanted Edwin's pup. He lay awake, listening to his Beta breathing steady in his sleep and held at his belly, praying for some kind of divine assistance. His panic could not own him. His fear was inexcusable. He needed _triumph_.

It wasn't just that, he thought. It was that he merely wanted to make Edwin's task as simple as possible. To have an heir was not supposed to be a complicated endeavor. It was not meant to be as difficult as his panic had made it. Despite everything—he wanted to see what sort of babe Edwin and he could create. Would the little one be mild as a Beta? Fierce as an Omega?

_Brutal? As an Alpha?_

He turned on his side in the dark and moved to snuggle against his mate, afraid to hope that he had somehow wished a pup into existence. Once he had produced enough potential heirs, he would be free to roam and to carry his legacy. Hugh's suggestion that he do so while still with child was boggling and yet somehow...

_I could manage it._

He could manage it. He frowned to himself, sliding his palm across Edwin's stomach until he could hold his mate around the middle. The Beta stirred.

“Alright, Cyril?” he mumbled.

“Do you believe me capable of managing the hotels while I am pregnant?” He felt a wave of warmth over his face and neck, a lingering symptom of his fading heat.

Edwin reached up with one hand and rubbed at his eyes with his palm, giving a sleepy little sigh before he lifted his arm around the Omega's shoulders and gripped Cyril against him. He cleared his throat but his huskiness remained. “Come again?”

“If I were with pup...when I was needed for business...do you believe me capable?”

The Beta paused. “What...what time is it?”

“Late.”

Edwin's free hand came over Cyril's forehead, searching for any hint of a fever. “I believe you have the ability to do whatever you set your mind to, Cyril. That said, I believe that it would be difficult for you to convince your underlings of your authority. They would quite likely believe you to be incompetent. Moods, you understand.”

“Alphas have plenty of moods and it does not harm their authority any.”

“I've not been woken to argue, have I? If this is the case, I shall be relenting very quickly just for the sake of some peaceful slumber. If there is naught else you wish from me, I believe I will do just that.”

Cyril pouted, squeezing Edwin tightly. “Hugh merely pointed out the absurdity of having to avoid you during my heats...to deprive myself. I...I have much liked to have you here with me. It should be such a shame to deny ourselves this closeness...should it not?” He felt Edwin's fingers course through his hair lovingly.

“I will never turn you away from my bed, little one,” the Beta murmured, his eyes already closing in preparation for sleep. “If you are so concerned, I am absolutely certain that much of your work can be accomplished through letters and if something were to go awry, I am always available to you. As more than just your mate. As your partner, if you wish. If you find that you are of mind to have more pups later on, we may discuss the merits of the suggestion. As it is, you are putting the cart before the horse, little one. You cannot even be certain that we have succeeded _this_ time around.”

Cyril groaned and frowned, rubbing his face against Edwin's shoulder. As restless as he thought he was, the pull of the dark was much too strong and as his mate's breathing evened out, he too, fell asleep. Mercifully, he did not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, sometimes I really do start thinking that Edwin has a big, secret, consent kink going on.


	21. Chapter 21

The strawberries had been a stroke of pure genius and, Edwin was happy to say, were a product of his own brainstorm. He hadn't thought that the Omega would have been so keen to try for it so quickly and to be certain, he had been reluctant with the thought that he may hurt him. The first rush of slick that had come when he had been inside his mate had struck him with an undeniable relief. The very concept of having hurt him was a nightmare for the Beta and it had taken everything in his power not to panic at Cyril's horrified utterance of his name. Overall, he considered the venture a complete success and he was delightfully humming to himself when he was reading the paper after his breakfast under one of the ornate and glittering chandeliers on the ground floor.

A presence was suddenly across from him and he tilted the paper down and grinned happily at Cyril who reached across the table under his news and snagged a small portion of his bacon, munching it while his sharp hazel eyes scanned through a letter of some sort.

“Alright, Cyril?”

“Not quite,” he mused, reaching again onto the plate without looking and snagging a piece of Edwin's toast, minding not that he had dipped his slender fingertips directly into the jam spread. He licked his fingers absentmindedly. “Our friend has had his nose in some interesting business while we were otherwise engaged.”

“Oh?” Edwin grinned. He folded the _Times_ and set it down as his mate handed him the detective's report. The contents furrowed his brow but his grin remained in a testament to its damning quality. “Gracious,” he managed. “I believe I _had_ stumbled upon something, hadn't I?” He studied the bit of paper again. “And Donnelly...he has the proof of all of this?”

“He has already given it to me. There is a letter in Hamlin's own hand to Rickton assuring him that their partnership will not end due to my meddling. He did not take the bait for your renovations but his nervousness did him in. His assurances to his partners in the fraud will be his downfall.”

“And this letter,” Edwin chuckled, “How did Donnelly come across it? Surely he did not _post_ the thing?”

“Oh no,” Cyril grinned. “The man is a born spy. Hamlin carelessly wrote his letter upon another slip of parchment and is unfortunate enough to hold a heavy hand. Donnelly fortuitously managed to get ahold of that sheet and used a small bit of charcoal to rub over it until the message appeared! He's brilliant, is he not?”

“I say,” Edwin agreed. “Well done of him.”

“Not only this,” Cyril gloated, “But he has done even better for me than I had hoped. Mr. Bazaretti is a man of impeccable honor. His distrust of Omegas is merely a dose of traditionalism that was instilled within him from his youth, hence his unwillingness to share the truth with me. Donnelly managed to convince him to write a letter to my father in London.”

Edwin leaned forward while Cyril's eyes glinted and the little boxer reached into his jacket to reveal an envelope. The Beta smirked. “How absolutely devious of you, little one. Am I to understand perhaps that Mr. Hamlin is rounding up his things?”

Cyril tapped the edge of the letter on the table's surface. “I have not yet told him. I was considering how I might do it. I'm feeling quite testy this morning and I'm not much of the mind that I want to spar with him verbally. It could come to blows if he were to strain my patience.”

Edwin could have chuckled but he held it in to denote the severity of his sentiment. “Well then, my dearest, I daresay I should accompany you. I highly doubt that the man would dare lift a finger against you, verbally or otherwise, but I suppose one can never predict a man's response to such a great upheaval. Especially if you are to leave him without a reference.”

“I cannot vouch for a man who's defrauded me,” Cyril snipped. “I would have you with me, Edwin. But I would have you say nothing. Your intimidating stature is message enough for him not to try me.” With that, the Omega stood and led his mate to Hamlin's office where the man was sitting at his desk, scribbling on a slip of paper. “Mr. Hamlin,” Cyril murmured, clasping his hands patiently behind his back as he wandered into the office with a distinct scent and air of authority, his confidence beyond question.

Hamlin stood, the tips of his fingers fiddling with his pen as he lifted his chin in a subtle defiance of Cyril's presence. It did not help matters that the hotel manager was able to conveniently stare straight down his nose at the small Omega, his arrogance galling for Edwin to behold. The man was clearly under the erroneous impression that he was in some form _above_ his current company.

For all that Cyril masked in his scent, Edwin could see his shoulders bristle at Hamlin's stance. “It has come to my attention,” the Omega began severely, “That there have been several instances in which funds were depleted from the hotel's coffers for the sake of some...questionable renovations performed by Mr. Rickton's company.” When the Beta opened his mouth, Cyril raised a patient hand to stop him. “I beg you not say anything, Mr. Hamlin, lest I take you to the authorities and have you tried for embezzlement. In these matters, it serves me well to be crafty and believe me when I tell you that I have been. Despite what many of you must think about Omegas, we are not vapid nor useless nor easily distracted.” He took a slight breath and let it out in a sigh. “You are to go, Mr. Hamlin. And I will be very cross if I am to find you near to my operations again.”

The Beta's eyes widened considerably and for a moment, from the way his scent had sharpened in both fear and anger, Edwin thought that he would have to step between them. Hamlin seemed to remember himself and though his eyes still burned like two small coals stuck in his skull, he drew his back straight, placed the pen in his hands down on the desk, and walked stiffly from the room, flashing Edwin a terribly disgusted glance as he left.

Cyril grunted and moved around the desk, plopping himself into the chair and putting his feet, crossed at the ankles, on the desk.

Edwin moved to stand before him, playfully gripping the toes of his Omega's boots in his hands, marveling at how he'd never noticed before how small his mate's feet were. “You do not think he will come for retribution? Set your hotel alight?”

“It is insured and the staff are trained to remove the guests were it to become an issue.” Cyril rubbed at his eyes. “Will you fetch me a bellhop?”

Edwin smiled and peeked out the door, waiting until he could see the nearest servant and motioning for him. Cyril gave him instruction and sent him on his way, taking his feet from the desk and planting them flat on the floor while he searched for papers in the manager's desk. Only a few minutes later and Mr. Bazaretti was in the doorway, the tall elder Beta brushing his mustache with the side of his finger before he dusted off his sleeves and clasped his hands behind his back in deference to Cyril.

“Mr. Muir. You called for me, sir.”

Cyril reached into his jacket and produced the long envelope that he'd been supplied with from his agent and tossed it onto the expanse of the desk. Edwin carefully drew his eyes up to the Italian's face which twitched with surprise, his scent revealing his shock.

“You're a noble man, Mr. Bazaretti. I'm sorry to have resorted to such subterfuge to draw the truth from you but if you would not tell me, I can only hope to come to know these bits of information by stealing them. I hope that you will forgive me for having utilized such trickery.”

Bazaretti's eyes flitted to Edwin and then back down toward Cyril. “Mr. Muir, it is...that I am more familiar with your father. He spent much time with me when he was in New York. He is a kind man.”

“And I am my father's son, Mr. Bazaretti. What I need to know from you is whether or not I can trust you to inform me of any untoward happenings that have occurred in my hotel. When my father passes, I will be his heir and I will require absolute loyalty, do you understand?”

He gave a slight bow. “ _Si_. I understand, sir.”

Cyril nodded and stood, his back straight. “Then I should like to inform you that from this point forward, you will be the acting manager of this hotel. I believe you are absolutely capable of rising to the occasion and you will find the pay increase substantial. Your honor is impeccable, Mr. Bazaretti, and I am certain you will succeed beautifully.”

The older Italian could only stare with wide, dark eyes when Cyril put out his hand.

“Congratulations, Mr. Bazaretti.”

His jaw trembled. “You...this is a joke, Mr. Muir...I... You cannot...”

Cyril scoffed. “It is my hotel, I will do what I wish with it. If you do not think yourself capable, I will tell you now, man, you are wrong. Shake my hand and tell me you'll do it. I've no qualms with having a man such as yourself running my hotel and you should not either.”

He quickly moved to shake the Omega's hand, his scent overwhelmed with a sweet giddy happiness. “Thank you...I...” He put a palm to his forehead. “I have known. About what Hamlin was doing...I overheard the man...Rickton. The older of them. He was a braggart in ways, Mr. Muir.” He looked downward. “I am...I am sorry that I had not trusted you in the way you deserved. In my home, Omegas...they are not raised to run a business. I doubted you. I should not have. I see that now. I will do my best for you, Mr. Muir. I promise you.”

“I know that you are well-equipped to run my hotel, Mr. Bazaretti and I know that if you do not do a good job of it, Tilly will probably have your head for it.” He offered the man a sly grin and Edwin was tickled by the notion.

Bazaretti seemed equally so and he nodded slightly. “I am grateful for what you've done for me, Mr. Muir and I am thankful that you can look beyond my faults. Your faith in me is humbling, sir.”

“Bah,” Cyril waved a hand. “All I ask is that the place not crumble to rubble.” He winked. “I trust you.”

* * *

It was a week along before they caught the next ship home and by the time they had returned to Hollyvale with Ben by their side, Cyril was seeming a bit peaked and it was not hard for Edwin to notice. The day they had set their young American charge into his own tenancy, Cyril had returned home and ignored all of the letters that remained to be answered in favor of their bed, sleeping the rest of the day until eight o'clock at which point the little Omega would only eat a small bit of cold haddock and some toast. Edwin had slipped into bed to find Cyril naked and curled into a tight ball, his temperature normal and his scent calm.

It had been the scent that had thrown the Beta off. He knew his nose was not quite so discerning as the other two dynamics could have been but he would certainly have been able to note any ailment in his mate. He found himself often frowning when his small husband insisted he was perfectly fine but retired soon after and betrayed nothing. If he was somehow masking a sickness in his scent, Edwin would be furious.

Determined to solve this odd mystery, he followed Cyril to bed one afternoon, stripping off his clothes and curling behind his mate, holding him loosely and enjoying his simplistic warmth. Under the sheets, he studied Cyril's scent up close, pressing his nose gently into his throat to overtly scent him.

Cyril's sleepy voice wafted through the room. “Can you scent it, Beta? I was of the impression that only Omegas could scent it. At least, that is what Miss Molly once told me. I wouldn't know, myself, I can't say I ever had the privilege. Before I lost the ability, that is.”

Edwin's brain fizzled. “Scent it? What am I scenting?” He felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I daresay I was thinking that you may have been masking something from me...”

“I cannot mask this,” Cyril chuckled, his eyes closed, those dark lashes fanning against his cheeks. “I do not believe there are any who can. Might you ring the bell for me? I'm a bit peckish. Perhaps some dry toast. Any else and I might heave it.”

“This is what I'm talking about,” Edwin frowned, raising himself up on his elbow. “You have been quite bizarre since we've arrived at Hollyvale and at first I thought it might have been the boat...or the carriage...or...or I guess I simply don't know. You hardly eat, Cyril.”

The Omega turned, casting a sleepy but loving stare upon him that nearly could have broken his heart. “Edwin.”

“What is it?”

“Please ring the bell for me.”

He did, miffed that he had been, once again, skirted. His frustration grew and he cast his frown directly upon the boxer. “Are you sad, little one? Is that it? I have known some who are prone to melancholy. Perhaps we should find you another Beta to fight. Would that be of some use?”

Cyril grinned, his teeth flashing while he snickered. “I am not sad, Edwin. I'm pregnant.”

He started, raising himself to sit. “You're quite certain?” Elated bubbles began forming in his stomach and chest, filling his whole body with the tingling warmth of joy. Excitement numbed his fingertips and he found that he nearly could not speak. “Do not jest, Cyril, am I to be a father? Truly?”

The Omega turned onto his back, staring up at him with a smug little grin and a tiny sparkle in his eyes. “There is always a chance that it does not stay, but yes. For now, you are to be a father. It is early. Keep faith, my mate. I hold hope that the pup will stay.”

He reached to Cyril's belly just as a servant knocked upon the door and took Cyril's request, returning shortly with a small platter of warm, dry toast. The small Omega footman brought, as a precaution, a dish of butter and some assorted jams alongside it and gave the two of them a formal bow.

“Is there anything else I can fetch for you?” he asked, his cheeks pink.

“No, thank you,” Edwin replied, narrowing his eyes at the tiny servant. “Had you known? Have you all known? Have I been the laughingstock under the stairs for having been blind to it?”

The little one's eyes widened and his back stiffened considerably, his cheeks fading from pink to red. “...it is...not our place, sir.”

“That's right,” Cyril mumbled, covering his eyes with his forearm. “They cannot tell you everything, Edwin. Sometimes it is prudent for an Omega to wait to tell their spouse. In the case that it does not stick, it would be cruel to reveal it overly soon.” He addressed the boy and waved him off. “Do not let him abuse you, you've done well. Thank you.”

As the footman left, Edwin reached over his mate and pulled off a bit of the toasted bread, teasingly touching the edge of the slice over Cyril's lips. He laughed when it was bitten and shared it with the sleepy Omega, kissing him soundly when it was gone. “How are you feeling, little one?”

Without reply, he rolled toward the Beta, his hand reaching out under the sheets to grasp and cradle Edwin's manhood, the boxer clearly amused by the soft grunt that came from his partner. When Edwin leaned back among the pillows and spread his legs to allow for Cyril to touch him with ease, he found himself on the edge of panting.

Cyril murmured. “I know it's been sorely trying for you to have dealt with my oddities.” He spat on his hand and then continued stroking, “There have been so many times that I've thought that if you had been an Alpha, you should have lost your patience with me.”

He leaned his head back, letting out a short little grunt to let Cyril know he was listening while pleasure tightened his muscles.

“You've been so perfect, my Beta. My Edwin. I could not have asked for a man so patient and compassionate.”

He snapped his head up when Cyril shifted to straddle his thighs, pressing their lengths together and stroking as best he could with his small hand. With humor in his smile, Edwin took Cyril's stiff member in his hand and allowed for the Omega to only work his while he wet two fingers on his free hand and reached behind himself.

“Cyril?” Edwin asked, receiving only a small wink in response. He watched with furtive attention, unwilling to spook his mate but also uncertain as to the outcome of the venture. With cautious movements, he continued stroking until the little boxer had moved closer, holding the Beta beneath him as if to impale himself. Edwin stared at the space between them, only a breath at most, and whispered, “Alright, Cyril?”

“Alright,” Cyril mumbled, easing his way down without hesitation, holding Edwin's member and guiding it with experience, his weight aiding in its slide upward inside him until he was sitting at the Beta's hips. He let out the breath he'd been holding and bit his bottom lip while he closed his eyes and frowned.

Edwin lay a palm flat on his mate's belly as he sat atop him. “You're devastatingly handsome, little one. I should tell you that every day of our lives.”

“Shut up,” Cyril laughed, the movement of his body nearly forcing Edwin's eyes to roll back. “Ah, you like that, hm? I am particularly fond of this feeling, you know. Laughing while you're inside me. Perhaps it is an activity we should engage in further.”

Edwin groaned, his hand returning to Cyril's length. “Then I fear I cannot shut up, my love. I take much pleasure in your body and in your laughter. The two combined are too much of a temptation to ignore.”

“Ah,” Cyril sighed, moving his hips slowly to rock into Edwin's hand. “Take advantage, Beta. I know not when the babe will allow for more of this. I can only hold faith that you will be generous enough with me that when I am round and fat and filled with a lustful mood that you will not reject me.”

“Never,” Edwin frowned, unable to forget the excitement he'd felt when he had first thought of Cyril round with a pup. “In fact, I believe I shall find you quite arousing if you are to be waddling about around me. Is that bizarre?”

His mate laughed again and he moaned at the way Cyril's body squeezed him, the movement deliberate. “Mayhap a little strange. There is naught much between us that is not a tad odd.” He lifted his broken brow. “I should not like to have it any other way.”

“Mmm,” Edwin agreed, tilting his head and beaming at the Omega astride him. It seemed as if it had been such a long time before when he had first spied the little boxer falling right into Halwill's perfectly set trap on the balcony. His vision of beauty sat impaled by him, filled with him, and filled with his pup, rocking back and forth and leaning forward to take his pleasure.

_He is my little Pascal. My little swan._

He sighed and moaned, reveling in the focus that Cyril's expression beheld as he moved. As his tempo increased and Edwin worked with him, his sighs became mewling cries with every thrust, the sounds the Omega made solidifying his ever-ardent love and his unapologetic worship.

“Edwin. Edwin! _Edwin!_ ” Cyril tensed hard in his release, tumbling the Beta over the same precipice with only one more thrust. The Omega paused, leaning with his back bowed for a few moments to collect himself before he sat up and with heavy-lidded eyes asked, “Alright, Edwin?”

“Oh yes,” he breathed, gazing upward with abandoned adoration. “Oh god, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, they're gonna have some babbies. So cute.
> 
> I know everyone would love to see Cyril all fat and waddling around (I would) but I gotta get going on this next project and I used up all the plot points for this one. I'd have a 100k+ monster story on my hands if I were to dick around any longer.
> 
> Hey, you know, if you have instagram and you'd like to follow me, my instagram is **asleep19**. If you have a Tumblr and you'd like to connect with me there to talk about headcanons, Omegaverse, fiction, or fanfiction, feel free to pop on over at [J.D. Writes](https://jdwrites.tumblr.com/)


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